


although circumstances may appear bleak

by outranks



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Amnesia, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Fake Marriage, M/M, Mistakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-07-28 01:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16231715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outranks/pseuds/outranks
Summary: "I'm Joseph."The name doesn't spark any tangible familiarity so much as the sense that it should.(You come out of the bliss too fast, shit’s liable to scramble your fucking brains.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> idk I'm really just going through tropes I like at this point.

_Snow_.

It looks like snow.

Thousands of small white flower petals spin and float through the air, gently making their way back to earth. Rook watches, transfixed, in a stretch of eerie silence before his ears start ringing with the echoes of an explosion. That sound, and only that sound, serves as the last thing that he can remember from the day. Month. God, is it years? Something blew up, he knows that. Even as the echo fades that knowledge, at least, remains. But he has no idea what it was or why he's part of it. 

Whatever happened seems like it should be important enough to remember. It’s not an everyday kind of event. Yet the harder he presses on it, the faster it slips away and all he's left with are the flowers and the smoke and the man he has pinned under him.

"Shit, are you okay?" Rook asks, shifting his weight off of the man with such blue, blue eyes. One of the lenses of his glasses is missing and he's looking around with a sort of confusion that Rook is fast becoming personally familiar with.

They're in the middle of a road surrounded by tall grass and stalks of the same looking white flowers that are being crushed underneath an overturned car. One of its back wheels is spinning, tilted on the axel, just waiting for a stiff breeze to knock it the rest of the way off. What looks like a broken radio is on the ground beside them smashed into jagged useless parts, and a little further away is a book, the white pages speckled with blood. He doesn't recognise any of it.

"What--" The man gasps, rubbing at his eyes and knocking his broken glasses off.

Another explosion rips through the hills, accompanied by angry, dangerous shouts. And gunfire. Wherever they are, it isn't safe. 

Rook scrambles to his feet, pulling the man with him. They must know each other if Rook was protecting him from... his brain hits a wall that stands between him and what’s missing. "We have to run." He can't explain it, but he knows with a terrifying certainty that whoever is coming will kill him if they catch them.

The man clings to him, fingers wrapping a tight grip around his arm. "Do you-- what's going on?"

Rook pushes the man behind a tree and presses in against him so that they are hidden from the road just as a large truck drives by, plowing through the smoke and wreckage. Sounds of scraping metal follow the truck even after it’s no longer in sight. 

"Don't know," Rook says, keeping his voice low. There are cries of fighting in all directions. "We're kinda still in the middle of the last thing I remember." He pulls the man deeper in to the treeline, where the rapid gunfire starts to grow quieter.

"Do you have a name?" The man asks.

"Sure," Rook says and grins when the man's face goes flatly unnamused. "Call me Rook."

"Rook," the man says like he's tasting how it feels on his tongue. Apparently it's good because he smiles something soft and small. "I'm Joseph."

_Joseph_.

The name doesn't spark any tangible familiarity so much as the sense that it _should_.

His arms and torso are littered with tattoos and scars that all carry a similar theme. Rook hasn't been to church since he was a child, at least he thinks he hasn't, but he can recognise religious expression when he sees it. Especially when someone has had sin carved deep into their flesh.

Rook wants to touch, wants to trace the jagged red lines with his fingertips as if that would somehow ease an old pain. "Who did this to you?" He doesn't mean for his voice to come out so softly intimate. It’s definitely not the right time for that.

Joseph pulls a face of helpless confusion, rubbing at the scarred lettering on his arm. _Wrath_.

What kind of person would do this? Is that who they're running from? Rook can't shake the feeling that it is. He has the pads of his fingers pressed to Joseph's abdomen, over the word _Eden_ before he can think to stop himself. "Do you remember any of this?"

"Maybe?" Joseph sighs frustration. "I don't know."

"I won't let them hurt you again," Rook promises. All of his recent memories may be gone, but that doesn't change who he is. If there's anything he can do to keep Joseph safe, then he will. That's the kind of person he's always been and he doesn't think he could have changed that much in the past... year? The last concrete memories he has are from college and then a few vague impressions of things that happened after until everything just. Disappears. "We'll figure this out, okay?"

Joseph touches his face in a way that isn't familiar, but, again, feels as though it should be. Almost déjà vu. "I trust you," he says, thumb brushing his cheek.

"We should--" Rook swallows against the nervous embarrassment that's threatening to choke him, and the rush of blood to his face. "We should go." Whatever they've escaped from isn't going to be far behind and surely there's a reason for why they're here. As much as he wants answers, the price for that knowledge will be too high. It's not worth risking their lives.

The trees are scattered in sporadic clumps that do little to protect them from sight from anyone on the road. So they have to get creative when hiding. Rook learns quickly to avoid the white flowers, there is something very wrong with them. 

The first time they walk through a field of the flowers his head spins, and his vision becomes bright and fuzzy like he's in a dream where everything is in hyperfocus, but muted all the same. It's _beautiful_ and Rook wants to _stay_ , he never wants to leave, not ever. The flowers make him _perfect_. But Joseph pulls him out, mouth speaking words of concern that float around in Rook's head without landing.

It has to be only minutes later when he fully comes down from it, but Joseph looks _terrified_. His hands are twisting in Rook's shirt like he thinks he's going to be left alone and he doesn't know what to do.

"Shit," Rook says, blinking the last traces of fireworks from his eyes.

After that they're very careful stay out of the flowers.

It doesn't matter how far they go or which direction they go in the sounds of fighting never really end. There are abandoned houses and dead bodies everywhere, in case Rook wasn't completely sure that things are fucked. Occasionally they spot living people, but... even from a distance he can see that something is wrong with them, too. Masked faces that stare out at nothing and wide, glassy eyes. They get close enough, once, to hear the litany of madness they mutter endlessly.

However unnerving Rook finds it, Joseph seems to take it worse-- quietly urging Rook away before they can be spotted.

Eventually the only way to continue forward is to cross a river. It turns out to be deceptively shallow, the water so crystal clear that Rook can see every stone as if they were right below the surface. Around the halfway point he sinks up to his waist, water splashing in a glittering halo and getting in his eyes. Turns out the water is wrong, too.

It's diluted, compared to the fields of flowers, and Rook has a better grasp on his wits, but only a little. Colors burst and melt like oil, spreading over everything, and the light dances, untethered from any source. Joseph stands apart from an unfocused world, brighter than anything. One of his hands is raised in front of him and Rook can see that water turned crystal and broken glass that sparkles in the light and trickles down his arms where it drips back into the river.

"Joseph," he says and he wonders if the light will carry the sound of his voice. They can't stay here, they have to keep moving. He tries to wade closer, but his foot catches on unseen traps in Joseph's shadow and he slips on the algae covered rocks that line the bottom of the river.

It's Joseph who catches him, arms outstretched, keeping him from going under. "We should go," he breathes light into the air and leads Rook to shore.

The effects of whatever is in the water don't go away as easily this time. It's all over his skin and soaked into his clothes, making the world continue to shimmer at the edges, long after the rest of him feels back to normal. "I really hate that shit," he says while the taste of burnt sugar coats his tongue.

"It comes from the flowers, but I don’t believe that it is natural," Joseph says, "And I suspect that it's in more than the water. Is that what’s happening here?"

It's a solid theory, and if such a small exposure to it has Rook tilting wildly in his own madness, in a world turned watercolor and light that rips away at his mind, then he can't imagine what prolonged exposure could do. "You seem to be immune to it," he says as a thought occurs to him, "think that's why they did that to you?" He gestures at Joseph's scars.

Josephs expression drops into something sad and unsure and Rook hurries to fix the hurt he's cause by his own idiocy. "I'm sorry, that's-- of course you don't know. I shouldn't have brought it up." All he has is Joseph and he's gone and shoved his foot directly into his own mouth. "Fuck, I'm really sorry."

"Rook," Joseph says, his voice a measure of humor and comfort. "I'm not mad. What you said is... worth consideration."

Rook nods, thankful for Joseph's kind understanding, and considers the other thing that's been weighing on his mind. "Would this be a bad time to mention that the tattoo on your back looks a lot like the weird cross we've seen spray painted everywhere?"

The reaction he gets is not what he expects. Joseph laughs bright warmth that sets Rook’s pulse faster. Of course he wouldn't know about the tattoo, that's sort of their biggest problem currently. Fuck, Rook isn't even entirely sure how old he is, let alone any new scars or tattoos he may have acquired. "Yeah, okay, you're right."

"We'll figure it out."

*

When the suns begins to set they decide to find shelter for the night. They're flying blind already, no reason to make it literal. It takes a while to find somewhere that Rook deems safe, but they come to a house at the end of a narrow, winding path, away from any of the bigger roads. There are no cars in the driveways and no lights on inside, which is a good sign, though Rook still chooses to approach with caution. He won't allow them to get this far only to be killed when they finally decide to rest for the night.

"Do you think anyone lives here?" he asks when he's sure there's no one inside _currently_.

"Not anymore."

Rook follows Joseph's eyeline to see what's holding his attention. Propped against the side of the house, nearly hidden from view behind a pile of broken furniture and old trash, are two bodies, riddled with bullet holes. 

“What the fuck is going on here,” Rook whispers. This is insane, none of this can be happening. 

Joseph shakes his head and stares at Rook helplessly, equally bewildered. This is all so fucking insane.

"Come on," Rook says as gently as possible, guiding Joseph inside. "Maybe there's a working phone and we can call... I don't even know who you call for this." The National Guard? There's a small, useless, _ping!_ at his memory. A decision made over a late night fast food run. "I think I'm the police? I might have joined the sheriff's department after I came to Montana."

"Deputy," Joseph says quietly, almost like he _remembers_. But in the end he simply shrugs because a few keywords aren't going to magically unlock their memories.

They phone doesn't work when they find it. Which isn't a surprise at all, there's no reason to believe the entire county hasn't been cut off from the outside world. Whatever is going on has them isolated from any help. Still, it was a nice pipe dream while it lasted.

"Take your shoes off," Joseph orders, his already off and holding a hand out for Rook's. He sets both pairs outside in the last rays of sunlight where they can hopefully dry.

"Thanks."

There's no electricity in the house either and the only light to see by is what comes through the windows. The West facing walls care cast in an orange glow that only adds to the unnatural stillness of the home. Maybe it's the fact that there are two dead bodies right outside, but it's unsettling. Every creak and groan of the floorboards sound amplified, even under the broken furniture and fallen picture frames.

"You find anything?" Rook calls, poking his head around the doorframe leading into the kitchen.

Joseph has pulled every drawer and cupboard open and from where Rook's standing they all appear to be empty. "This was in the sink." He holds up a knife in two pieces, the blade pinched between his fingers and the handle in his open palm. "The pantry is empty and I wouldn't recommend opening the fridge."

A single box of cereal rests on the floor of the pantry and when Rook gently nudges it with his toe a mouse scurries out, then turns back around and runs back in. He figures that was equally alarming for the both of them. "Well, shit."

"I had hoped to find food," Joseph says, setting the knife parts on the counter.

Rook takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, trying to clear his mind to think. They don't exactly have a lot of options here. "We can at least rest for awhile," he says when no better plan or solution comes to mind. "And maybe there's something in the places we haven't checked yet?"

Out of all the rooms in the house, the bedroom is by far the worst. There's a _smell_ that vacillates between burned plastic, mildew, and rot. Rook is able to trace part of it to an uncomfortably large pool of dried blood on the mattress, partially hidden under a lumpy trash bag that he decidedly does not consider the possible contents of. He grabs the sheet that's hanging off the side of the bed and pulls it back in to place, covering up that horror show. Out of sight, out of mind.

Thankfully, the bathroom has remained untouched. He turns the water in the shower on and sticks his arm under the spray. Even at the hottest setting it remains tepid, but that's honestly better than he was hoping for. He and Joseph are both caked in layers of strange flower pollen and dirt and Rook would love nothing more than to wash it off. It's when he moves to turn the shower back off that some of the water hits his face and he realises that the effects of the flowers are in the water here, too. Of fucking course.

When he walks out of the bathroom he finds Joseph in the bedroom, rifling through the drawers.

"I think these will fit you," Joseph says, handing over a pair of dark blue jeans, a long sleeve grey shirt, and a pair of clean, _dry_ socks.

"Shit, thank you." Rook would actually kiss him if he wasn't sure that would be more than a little awkward. The longer he goes without changing out of his own clothes the more he wants to. "The shower works," he says, inclining his head in the direction of the bathroom. "It's not very hot, but since we're both pretty dirty, I figured... well, you can go first, I don't mind."

"If you're sure..?"

"Yeah, no, I don't mind."

Joseph opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but instead he just nods. "Allright."

Rook leaves him alone, deciding it would probably be a good idea to check if the doors and windows are secure. Or if they _can_ be secured. He's never felt more paranoid in his life, and there's this itch at the base of his skull, like there's more he should be doing. Some kind of... task, perhaps, that he should be accomplishing. It's awful, missing so much of his life. What important parts of him have been locked away? 

He sighs, heavy, all weary desperation for the things he’s lost.

The back door and all of the windows are all shut tight, which gives him some small measure of comfort. But the front door has been broken off one of the hinges and won't shut properly no matter what he does. "Damn," he says. What kind of luck they must have.

"Is there a problem?" Joseph's hair is down in loose, wet curls that brush at his shoulders, leaving drops of water on the pale blue sweater that perfectly matches his eyes.

"No, just--" Rook clears his throat, looking away. "Just the usual."

"I see," Joseph says, one quick glance from Rook to the door. "Well at least it's not worse."

"You're not supposed to say that," Rook laughs. He gathers up the clean clothes that Joseph had found for him and waves toward where the shower is. "I'm gonna--"

Joseph smiles at him in a way that gives Rook the impression of being judged, but not harshly, by someone familiar with his quirks. It's an odd feeling he carries with him into the shower where the water makes his body and mind feel adrift. It's becoming almost comfortable, if no less concerning. His thoughts float from one thing to the next, swirling around until the water carries them down the drain. And all he is left with is Joseph's confusing smile. 

Who are they to each other? Why were they together? He thinks of Joseph's scars, the words carved into his skin, and wonders who would do that. All of that skin and muscle, firm under Rook's fingertips. Bright, white teeth behind soft looking lips. And blue, blue eyes.

When Rook stepped into the shower he had no intention of jerking off, but here he is, hard, braced against the tile wall, dick in hand. Because he's an idiot. And maybe high on whatever is in the water. He still has enough sense to know he shouldn't be doing this, especially not now when their lives are actively in danger, but he doesn't have enough sense to stop. 

He tries not to think of Joseph, tries to put another image in his mind as he pumps himself in a loose fist. But the more he tries, the less he can picture anything else. Like whatever is in the water has forced him to latch onto the strongest image, obsessively. He comes embarassingly quick and stumbles out from under the spray where he can maybe get his head under control. 

It's almost too dark to see anything when he gets out, but he feels better than he has in hours. Possibly longer, if he could remember. He trips on something balled up on the carpet when he walks through the bedroom and picks up a jacket that he can't tell the color of but he's pretty sure says 'Cougars' on the back. It also doesn't smell bad which makes it an easy decision to keep. And he finds Joseph sitting on the floor in the wreckage of the living room, lit by a single candle, flipping through a magazine.

"Anything interesting?" Rook asks, joining him in the flickering pool of light.

"Depends on how you feel about trout," Joseph says, closing the magazine and setting it aside. "We should talk." His hair is back up in a bun and when he turns to face Rook, sincere interest in every line of his face, he's backlit by the candle.

He's _familiar_. A memory pokes and prods at Rook's brain, insistant and _important_. It's only a snapshot, a single heartbeat captured in poor lighting and vaseline blurring the edges, but he remembers that moment.

"Rook?" Joseph asks when he must have been sitting there in silence for too long.

"Yeah, sorry, I--" he shakes his head. "What do you want to talk about?"

Joseph exhales a laugh. "What do you remember?"

"Not a lot," Rook starts, leaning back against the remains of a chair. "Everything up through college, I think. How would I know if anything there is missing?" There are so many missing pieces that it's hard to tell what happened first. "I remember getting off the plane in Montana, and making the decision to join the sheriff's department, but I don't remember if I _did_ , and then--” a moment somewhere with Joseph. “What about you?"

Joseph frowns, looking down at where the sweater covers the scars on his arms. "I came here with my brothers. We were going to start our lives somewhere new, away from..." He shrugs helplessly which is exactly how Rook feels.

Rook debates not telling Joseph about the other thing, but he has to know. "I think I remember you."

Joseph's head snaps up and his eyes search Rook's. "In a church?"

"I don't-- a church?" Rook sits up, leaning into Joseph's space, heart beating frantically in his chest. This _has _to be significant if they share this memory. It has to mean something. "Yeah, I... I think so." It has to be _important_ to get through all of those blank, empty spaces that have devoured everything else. "You were waiting for me, and I was nervous. I don't know _why_."__

__"Yes," Joseph breathes, placing his hand over Rook's. "You were there just for me and I was so excited to see you, with all of my family watching..."_ _

__Joseph's words paint a picture in all the gaps surrounding that one moment in Rook's memory. A church, a family lining the aisle, nerves and excitement as he walked toward Joseph, ready to take his hand... Is that what happened? He doesn't have a wedding ring, but he also doesn't have his phone or his wallet or a large portion of his memories spanning the last decade of his life. Joseph _feels_ familiar and important, and he's certainly fits Rook's type. But Rook's just... he's a guy who didn't know what to do with his life so he moved to fucking Montana and _maybe_ joined the sheriff's department because a career aptitude test in high school told him he might be okay in law enforcement. Not even _good_ at it, just _okay_._ _

__He clears his throat against all the questions he knows that neither of them will have the answers for. "We might be married." The word isn't weird on his tongue like he would have thought._ _

__"I believe that is possible," Joseph says, voice filled with a quiet wonder. "It would explain why I know you are--"_ _

__"Important?"_ _

__Joseph nods and Rook is so off balance here. None of this seems possible. "There are hundreds of other explanations for what we remember," he says because he's having trouble thinking of any when that one explanation feels _right_. Now that he's put it in that context, he can't undo it. But the idea that he's forgotten something so important scares him. What if the memory never comes back?_ _

__They both watch as the last of the candle melts away and the small flame flickers out. "I suppose you're right," Joseph says in the blanketing darkness, before Rook's eyes can adjust. "With everything else going on, it doesn't matter anyway."_ _

__And that is _not_ what Rook meant. It matters a hell of a lot to him, especially now when things are so perilous and he's not even sure they'll survive the night. "It does matter," he tells Joseph, forcing the words out against a long history of being unable to say the right thing._ _

__Joseph’s face is cast in shadows, too dark to see what expression he wears, but his hand is still covering Rook's own. That has to be a good sign that Rook hasn't ruined this thing before he can ever remember starting it._ _

__“Yes, it does,” Joseph says quietly._ _

__Rook grasps for something to say and whatever moment they're having is ruined by him opening his damn mouth a letting his thoughts spill out. "So, you mentioned coming here with your brothers. Are they-- I mean, do you think they're still here?"_ _

__"They're alive," Joseph rushes to say. "I don't know where they are, but I know they're alive."_ _

__"Good, that's good. Maybe we can find them, or--" Where would they even start? Rook hasn't recognised a single thing besides Joseph, so how could he expect to navigate a county full of death and armed lunatics to find a specific location neither of them can remember. And from the way Joseph's fingers curls against his own in a tense grip, it's possible that he's really only trying to convince himself. "It's probably safer if we don't," Rook adds after a while. "No reason to put more people in danger."_ _

__Joseph's grip loosens a little, as if not knowing the truth is easier to bear than a reality where he lives and his brothers do not. "I have a sister, too," he says softly. "She's new."_ _

__Rook has absolutely no idea what that means. "We'll see them again," he says anyway._ _

__That gets Joseph to smile at him again, catching just enough moonlight to be visible, which makes his insides all warm and fuzzy in the most ridiculous way. They've known each other for maybe four hours, they might be married, and now Rook is going to develop a crush. Amazing. Everything around them has gone to an almost literal hell and he's adding another problem to the pile for no reason other than Joseph has pretty eyes and a kind smile and a voice he could listen to for hours._ _

__" _Rook_ ," Joseph says with a desperate urgency, nails biting into Rook's skin. "Outside."_ _

__There are headlights in the distance, illuminating the winding dirt road that leads to the house. Rook counts nearly a dozen cars, all sterile bone white in the surrounding dark. They're not trying to hide their approach at all, like they know they don't have to._ _

__"Shit," Rook says, scrambling for the front door so he can grab their shoes from where Joseph had left them outside. He can't even pretend there was any possible way that he hadn’t been seen, but no one had shot at him and that's all he's willing to ask for. His boots are certainly dryer then they were, but still damp and uncomfortable on the inside. And now cold, as well. "Fuck, come on." He takes Joseph by the hand and leads him through the house toward the back door, staying low, away from the windows._ _

__They hear the sound of gravel crunch under the weight of a truck almost the second they reach the back of the house._ _

__The back door creaks when it's pushed open and Rook holds his breath and tries to hear over the sound of his heart thudding a panicked rhythm against his ribs. Someone has gotten inside, barking orders that he can’t make sense of. Wood cracks, broken, a distracting sound that Rook uses for cover. No one has noticed them, he thinks, feeling the shifting bones of Joseph’s wrist under the vice grip he’s made._ _

__He tries to apologise without words, loosening his fingers and rubbing with his thumb, as they slowly, _slowly_ make their way outside. Hidden by the front door being forcibly brought down. _ _

__The trucks have their high beams on, casting a bright light over the house, but most of the cars are still on the road. And Rook knows how to survive. He pulls Joseph into the shadows where they cross and overlap. Tall grass surrounds the house on all sides, dotted with trash and wreckage, either from neglect or convenience it’s hard to tell. There's a small copse of trees not too far away, and beyond that... they just have to keep going._ _

__He takes Joseph's hand, fear halting his words, and doesn't let go until they've escaped._ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if I didn't have to edit this fic for spelling, grammar, coherency, etc then the whole thing would be posted at once tbh because I hate editing. oh well.

A little bell above the door rings when Rook pushes it open, trash scraping against the linoleum as it’s pushed out of the way. The store has been absolutely torn apart by whoever was here before them. Half of the shelves have been knocked over and the ones that remain are empty. It's not great, but it'll do. They can't keep running and every other building in the area has either been burned to the ground or the smell of death is too thick in the air. An unavoidable reminder that nowhere is truly safe.

He can see the way Joseph is starting to curl into himself, every step growing heavy as the long day catches up and fatigue settles in. Rook is barely hanging on either, momentum has been the only thing carrying him forward since the fear has worn off. If he stops he's not sure he'll be able to start again, but if they get caught he's not sure he'll be able to run.

Rook searches through the store anyway, just in case they aren’t alone, but the only other person there is a dead guy perched in a chair in what looks like a storage closet turned office. The body is _fresh_ as well and that is easily the worst thing Rook has seen all day. He shuts the door to the closet and walks away.

Joseph has cleared out a space behind the checkout counter where's he's sat, legs crossed, sliding batteries into a flashlight. It clicks on casting a narrow cone of yellow light that Joseph swings in an arch over the room before settling on Rook's face. "Find anything?"

"Dead guy." Rook yawns, sinking to the floor. "We can't stay here long." 

He means to only close his eyes for a second, but when he opens them again it's _much_ later. From where he's sitting he has a partial view of the storefront window and the hazy grey-blue of a predawn sky. Joseph is tucked against his side with his head resting on Rook's shoulder, fast asleep and Rook considers staying where he is. But he _can’t_. They need food and supplies and they weren’t even supposed to stay as long as they have.

"Hey," he whispers, nudging Joseph awake.

Joseph blinks tired eyes at him, clearly not fully conscious.

“I’m gonna have another look around,” he continues, shrugging off his jacket and draping over Joseph’s shoulders. “I’ll try to be quiet.”

Joseph nods, eyes sliding shut, and Rook has no idea if he understood anything that was said

He gets up, neck and back stiff from the uncomfortable position he’d fallen asleep in, and it’ll probably be worse for Joseph which doesn’t make him feel any better. They need a proper bed and Rook doesn’t have a lot of hope for their chances if what they’ve seen so far is any indication of what else they’ll find. More death, more destruction. 

The flashlight has rolled out of Joseph’s hand some time while they slept, and Rook is careful not to bump into him when he reaches for it. Wedged partially under the counter and pressed against a spider web like a taunt. He sighs, pulling it away, and not considering the possibility of poisonous spiders in Montana. Thing are already bad without letting that thought fester.

All of the shelves, including the ones lying on the floor, have been picked clean of anything that might be of use to them. Food, drinks, bandages all gone. It’s what he would have taken, too, if he’d gotten here first. And maybe he had. Maybe the person Rook is annoyed with the most is himself, a week ago, for not leaving anything behind for him now. It’s a weird thing to consider. Is he responsible for any of the things he’s seen? Is Joseph? 

He doesn’t want to think about it. There’s nothing he can do about it now anyway and they have more pressing concerns.

What he does find are some packets of chewing gum, a few bottles of car seat cleaner, and mountain-themed postcards. Even with a little creativity, Rook isn’t sure he can macgyver those things into anything useful. He sweeps the flashlight across the trash hoping for better luck and spot a backpack partially hidden under a broom sitting on one end of a streak of blood leading into the bathroom. 

Rook has to check.

The bathroom is empty, raising only more questions.

Fortunately the blood has dried, leaving the outside of the backpack with patches of a rusted sort of brown over the green canvas. The inside must be waterproof because everything is clean. There are a few letters held together with a paperclip addressed to a ‘Julia’, some old photographs of a happy looking couple, what might be treasure mementos, and an unopened pack of socks. And as he’s about to start tossing things out, his hand brushes an unseen pocket that crinkles with the telltale sound of a food wrapper. Whoever this backpack used to belong to had stuffed the pockets full of granola bars officially making them Rook’s favorite, probably dead, person.

He dumps everything but the food and the socks and shoves a granola bar into his mouth, practically inhaling it.

Which leaves the storage closet as the only place left that he hasn’t checked. With the dead guy.

Rook rolls his shoulders back, straightens his spine, and gathers all his nerves to push open the door and walk in. It isn’t that he’s afraid, he surprisingly used to dead bodies after only a day. But there is just something inherently creepy about being alone with a guy who is missing the majority of his head. It’s _unsettling_. And gross.

He avoids looking at the body as best he can, but immediately he sees a map folded up on top of the small table that appears to have been used as a desk. It also keeps the dead guy in his eyeline longer than he likes. All that’s left of his face is a wet, bloody beard. 

Also in the room are several unopened boxes and a safe tucked away in a corner. So many things full of potential. Of course it turns out that each and every box is filled with rolls of toilet paper and nothing else. Nearly two hundred rolls in total. 

“Fantastic,” Rook mutters to himself, not sure what he hoped for but disappointed nonetheless.

Carefully, oh so very carefully, he pulls the dead guy and the chair he’s sitting on away from the desk. In his lap, along with some brain matter and _teeth_ , is a pistol. Rook heroically doesn’t retch when he picks it up. Having a gun may actually raise their odds of survival by a small margin. Though… it didn’t seem to do a lot for the dead guy.

Rook unfolds the map and spreads it over the desk, discovering one of his biggest problems yet. He doesn’t have a single fucking clue where they are. The map also has no marker for a convenience store surrounded by other buildings that have all been burned to the ground. No _You are Here_ marker either.

Best guess, they’re somewhere along the Henbane River heading North. Worst guess, they’re literally anywhere else. And there’s no telling where in the Henbane region they are exactly. Not a damn thing on the map sounds familiar to him, no matter how many times he reads the location names. Holland Valley, Whitetail Mountains, it’s all meaningless. He’s not even sure he’d recognise a landmark if it hit him on the head at this point.

He’ll have to ask Joseph when he wakes up.

Which leaves the safe. Rook really wants to be the kind of guy who knows how to crack a safe and pick a lock. He quickly goes back into the other room to take the paperclip from the discarded letters, determined to try his hand at lock picking. 

He knows that it involves drivers and pins, he’s definitely read that somewhere, but not what those are or how to use that information. So he unbends one end of the paperclip and jams it into the keyhole. Maybe if he doesn’t know how to do this he can learn by doing. 

“You know how to pick a lock?”

Rook startles, snapping the thin metal in two, and hitting his elbow against the chair with the dead guy who tilts wetly to the side. “Fuck,” he laughs. “No, apparently not.”

Joseph is in the doorway, looking at him with amused fascination. “This was under the counter,” he says, tossing a bottle of water at Rook who catches it like a lifeline. “Don’t worry, there’s more.”

“You’re amazing,” Rook says, unscrewing the cap as fast as he can and draining the bottle in a few desperate gulps. Water dribbles down his chin which he hurries to wipe away before Joseph notices that his traveling companion, and possible husband, is a mess of a human being. It occurs to him in that moment that he never bothered searching for a key to the safe, too excited to try out any new skills he might have acquired over the years. He just went to town on the lock with a paperclip. 

He tries to shift the focus away from the safe by pointing at the map. “I found a map,” he says in case Joseph had somehow missed where it was taking up all the space on the table. “But I have no clue where we are so it’s not very helpful right now, unless you recognise anything. Do you?”

Joseph runs his fingers over the map, tracing the lines that run across it. Following some route that’s only in his head. “Here,” he says, tapping a more specific location than what Rook had ever expected. “The statue is here on the mountain and this appears to be the road we’re walking parallel to.”

"Statue?" Rook asks because that feels important.

"It's at the top of the mountain behind us," Joseph says. "You can see it from the window. It's very big."

For all the Rook has put himself in charge of their safety he’s not exactly the most perceptive person. And missing the giant fucking statue that’s been looming over them all day seems like a pretty big oversight. Colossal, even. “How did I not see that?”

The glass window is cold under his palms where he’s pressed to it. Even with the early morning fog obscuring the top half of the statue it’s still clearly visible.

“You had bigger concerns,” Joseph offers, though his lips pull up at the corners like he’s trying to hide his amusement.

"Well," Rook says, hoping the warmth in his cheeks can't be seen in the darkened interior of the store. "Oh!" He opens the backpack and pulls out two more granola bars, handing them over to Joseph. The pistol makes him hesitate, considering a few worst case scenarios, some what-ifs, before decides to hand that over as well. He _trusts_ Joseph with his life. "Do you know how to use it?"

Joseph has to think about it first. "Yes, I do," he says. "Are you sure that you want me to have it?"

"Yeah, yes, I'd feel better if you had it." Rook has no doubts that Joseph knows how to take care of himself, but Rook has always been better with his hands and fists and general physicality. And he's missing whatever part of his memory firearms training happens to be in, if it's there at all, and he's not willing to test any muscle memory on a loaded gun. As willing as he is to dive into an idea, he sometimes knows when it’s better not to. 

Joseph tucks the pistol into the waistband of his jeans, which Rook is kind of sure isn't the best place for it, but it's not like there are other options. "We should continue heading North," he says, unwrapping one of the granola bars, really taking the time to chew it unlike Rook had done.

There's not a lot else they can do here, and they should set off again soon. Rook wants to find somewhere they can _stay_. He doesn't want this new chapter in his life to be the two of them constantly on the run from an enemy they don't even know. It's a shitty way to live.

Rook excuses himself to the restroom, leaving Joseph to study the map. The floors grip the soles of his shoes, sticky with whatever had been spilled in there. It’s not blood, he thinks, but so far every answer to those kinds of questions has been horrifying. 

The water is still running here, too, and he splashes it on his face hoping that the cold will help wake him up some more. Instantly he regrets it. That same dizzying effect is stronger here than it was in the house and he has to hold tight to the edges of the sink, watching as his pupils dilate in his reflection. He feels more awake than ever, more _alive_. 

Rook wants to wipe the water away as much as he wants to drink it down. Make it a part of himself. He licks the droplets of water from his lips and turns the faucet off with shaking hands.

When he steps out of the restroom a hand presses over his mouth and for one terrible second Rook thinks that he’s been caught. But he knows Joseph, the way his name sounds in Joseph’s mouth. The way he shines in the dark, a beacon of light that Rook is drawn to. He’s safe with Joseph because _Joseph is safe_.

“Outside,” Joseph whispers, warm breath at his ear. His eyes are wide, panicked, and Rook has trouble hearing anything else but him.

He tries to take hold of his thoughts from where they float around with those flowers, forcing a deep breath into his lungs. He can’t let himself fall apart here.

Outside, someone is speaking.

Rook crouches down low when Joseph's hold finally loosens, and the two of them move closer to the window, avoiding the rays of morning sunlight that stream in. There are two people outside going through the pockets of a body lying in the street. Picking over it like vultures.

One of them uses the tip of his boot to roll the corpse onto its side. "Think it's true?"

The other person can't seem to find whatever it is they're looking for and stands up, wiping blood or dirt from their hands. "Dunno."

"Fuck, I hope he's dead."

The second man laughs and raises his bow out in front of him, aiming at an imaginary target. "Nah, I hope I find 'im so I can kill that sonofabitch."

And that is... enlightening. If not mostly unhelpful. It's possible that he and Joseph aren't the only people missing, but if not... Rook has never been the type of guy to make enemies and it's hard to imagine what he might have done. He can't believe Joseph is the type either with all his soft words and gentle hands. Unless whatever they’ve done is in reaction to what has been done to them. Rook has seen the scars the cover Joseph’s body and he can see himself becoming the kind of person who would do anything to stop that from happening again. 

He glances back at Joseph whose eyebrows are pinched and the corners of his mouth turned down tight. Well, they're on the same page, at least.

Rook mimes at Joseph to ask if he still has the pistol, which he does. He wants to avoid using it, and the sound of gunfire may draw unwanted attention. _More_ unwanted attention. Considering how so far everyone they've run into has been armed or dangerous and often both. Any attention is unwanted.

One of the men walks up to the window, cupping his hands around his face to peer in. "Can't tell if there's anything good," he says, looking over his shoulder at his companion. "I'm gonna have a look inside."

Rook frantically waves at Joseph to go into the storage room, while he presses into the space between the wall and the door, right as it opens.

"Fucking scavengers," the man says like he isn't one himself.

Rook is still not fully clear of the flowers, and maybe that’s what makes his decision. But he can’t let anyone find him or Joseph. He knows what he’ll have to do. So, careful of every step, avoiding all the trash and broken things, he positions himself behind the man. With every ounce of speed he has he slams one hand over the man's mouth, and wraps his other arms around his throat.

The man yells, or tries to, but it's muffled and goes unheard. 

Rook is taller and heavier and he knows how to use that to his advantage when the man tries to wrestle him off, thrashing and clawing at him. All elbows and fists and teeth. He kicks back at Rook's leg, throwing them both off balance. But Rook isn't easily moved and he twists, avoiding another blow to his knee when the man presses his luck. But then there’s a sound of paper crumpling and the man's foot slides out from under him. It happens faster than Rook can counter, causing him to stumble forward as the two of them collide with one of the still standing shelves. 

Rook, the man, and the shelf all go crashing to the ground.

"Fuck, _fuck_." Rook's hand slides through fresh wet blood, pouring from where the man's head is split open on a jagged corner of a broken shelf.

And the little bell above the door rings behind him.

Rook is frozen, not in shock, there's just no where to go. He turns in time to see the second man's eyes become round with surprise as Joseph pulls the trigger on the pistol.

They can't stay here.

Rook is rushing over to Joseph before he can even think about it. Touching his face, leaving smeared fingerprints of blood on his skin, forcing Joseph to look at him.

"He was going to kill you," Joseph murmurs, voice distant as he slowly peels his eyes away from the men lying dead in pools of their own blood. He’s killed someone. They both have. And there’s no time to process it. 

"I need you here with me," Rook says, scared for both of them. He can't lose Joseph to whatever is going on in his head.

Joseph blinks, the distance in his head receding, bringing all that sharp focus back to Rook. He nods, pressing his cheek into Rook's palm, his beard a gentle scratch that has Rook's breath catching. "I will check their bodies," he says, pulling away slowly, like neither of them want him to. "You need to gather anything we can take with us." He sounds like a man used to giving orders, and Rook's not sure what to do with that, but he doesn't hate the idea.

"Okay," Rook says in something of a daze.

The map refuses to fold easily so Rook does the best he can in a hurry and shoves it into one of the front pockets of the backpack for easy access later. He packs up his jacket, the remaining water bottles, and the flashlight, then rejoins Joseph who has emptied everything from the pockets of the dead men.

One hunting knife and a few meal replacement bars are all that makes up these men. No IDs and no phones, just like himself and Joseph. Is there anyone who will notice or care that these men are dead? Will anyone notice or care about him besides Joseph? He wants to think that there are people out there who would, but he can't remember them. So maybe it's not worth dwelling on. This way he can pretend.

Joseph pries the bow out from where it's wedged under one of the dead men. "Can you use it?"

Rook shrugs. "No idea," he says, but takes it anyway in case he has gained any skills in archery since coming to Montana. He's marginally less afraid of trying out some muscle memory with a compound bow. The arrows gets stuffed into the backpack with everything else, for lack of an actual quiver. Apparently the man was just holding them? Rook has no idea. He gives the store another once over. "I think that's everything."

Hopefully they will be safer in the mountains.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my cat for walking over the keyboard several times while editing this chapter and adding and deleting words at random.

Almost the exact moment when they cross the bridge over the Henbane River and into the mountains Rook can feel a change in the air. There is a heavy, almost oppressive stillness that falls over them, blanketing everything. A strange calm that feels more affected than natural. Like a trap trying to lure then in before it springs shut.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end with a sense of dread that chills his bones. There is danger lurking in the North.

“Maybe we should turn back,” Rook says, reaching for his new hunting knife.

If Joseph feels anything off about the area he hides it well. “We can’t go back,” he says, pushing a tree branch out of his way as they leave the road behind them. “This is our best option. We will be harder to track here.”

They have already passed a sign warning about bears and somewhere far away a wolf howls. Rook has the sudden urge to run. “If you say so.” The sense of being watched hovers at the back of his mind like a fear response without the necessary context. The mountains make him feel like _prey._ “Let’s just…” He exhales, trying to bring his voice above a whisper. “Let’s just be careful.”

A plane flies in circles above them as they duck into the cover of the trees. From their position on the ground the plane appears to be the same brand of white as the trucks. Same as the signs, the spray paint on the buildings, and those decorative metal spikes that seem to be used for impaling people and not much else. 

Rook is fast approaching the point where he’s more than a little intimidated by this enemy that apparently have their own air force. That’s not an enemy easily fought. “How do they have _planes_ ,” he asks. Who the fuck are these people?

“My brother John has a private airstrip at his home,” Joseph says casually, like that’s a normal thing that people just _have_.

Rook has no idea what to say to that because he’s suddenly presented with the very real possibility that he married rich. He’s always lived comfortably, though there were times when even that was a struggle, especially as he got older, and… there’s a pang in his heart at the thought that something like money could have influenced his choice in partners. It’s unlikely, though not impossible. Rook is keenly aware of the uglier side of himself that will often go to any lengths to achieve a goal. 

But he can’t remember and he wants to believe he’s better than that. And Joseph is also the only thing he _does_ remember, so maybe that’s all the answer he needs.

“Do you fly?” Rook asks, resolute in the idea that he would have forgotten Joseph if he wasn’t important to him. If he didn’t _care._

Joseph chuckles. “No, I’m afraid I’ve never had a love for it the way my brother does.”

“Too bad,” Rook says. “Might be fun to learn.”

“I’m sure John would be glad to teach you.” Joseph pauses. “If he hasn’t already.”

“You think?” That could be interesting, though there’s no way to test if he’s already learned how to fly without potentially getting himself killed. “So, any of this look familiar to you?”

Joseph runs his palm against the tree bark and looks up at where the light filters through the leaves. “No more than everywhere else we’ve passed so far.”

Which is about where Rook is at. “Yeah,” he sighs disappointment. Different trees, maybe some bears, but otherwise completely alike the place they just left.

Joseph grabs at his hands, bringing their pace to a stop. “It will come back,” he says.

Rook wants to believe that. There is so damn much of his life that he wants to know about, so many important things that he needs to remember. Not the least of which includes his relationship with Joseph. He wants it all back.

But doubt weighs heavy in his mind. “How can you be sure? What if we never remember and we’re stuck here? With all of _this_ and no memory of why we’re part of it?”

Joseph squeezes his hands. “I have faith,” he says with such conviction that it’s hard not to believe in him. 

Rook holds tight. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You would be fine,” Joseph says quietly. “I imagine that you are very capable on your own.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Rook pulls him in close, needing to get his point across. “I _wouldn’t_ ,” he says, freeing one hand to cup Joseph’s jaw. “I don’t remember anything about this place except for _you_ and right now you’re the only thing keeping me going. Survival is one thing, I know how to do that, but keeping my head on straight is another thing entirely. I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Thank you, I—“ Joseph glances from his eyes to his mouth and back up. “I believe there is a reason for us being here together.”

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” Rook does not mean for his voice to come out that rough. 

Joseph pulls away, starting to walk again, and Rook just watches him for several steps before his brain clicks back on and he jogs to catch up.

“I have faith.”

Rook laughs, unsure why he ever expected a different answer. That’s about as good as anything else at this point, really. It’s not as if either of them actually know how this happened or why they were together when it did. Maybe faith is all they need for now.

From there they stick to the more densely wooded areas, away from the roads and sounds of people. Sounds of anger and death. Everyone is armed to the teeth with guns and knives and sometimes wolves which is even harder for Rook to process than the planes. Fucking _wolves_. What kind of nightmare scenario have he and Joseph walked into that there are people running around with fucking wolves. 

And while he’s so far only been able to spot the wolves from a distance, which he figures has to be some kind of luck on their side finally, not a single wolf looks _normal._ They’re wrong, somehow. Mutated. 

Rook is just really glad no one has a fucking bear. 

The dead bodies scattered around, discarded like trash is becoming ordinary by comparison. Though many of them were clearly placed, positioned in macabre states like some sort of offering. Or warning. Strung up over billboards and frozen in grotesque supplication, mutilated and left to rot on the side of the road.

He worries that he may have been used to all of this once. That forgetting only reset his tolerance for the violence and bloodshed back to factory default and soon he’ll become apathetic to it again. 

Around midday they reach a small clearing that must have served as a campsite once. Several tents, all falling apart due to age and the elements, covered in dirt and leaves and murky rainwater, circle what remains of firepit. It might have even been a nice place once, though Rook thinks the bears should have been a concern. _He’s_ concerned.

"Let's stop here," Rook says, sitting down on an old tree trunk that must have been placed there for campers. He drops the backpack off his shoulders and rests the bow beside it and clears a space for Joseph by brushing the dry leaves away. "We can pretend it's a picnic."

Joseph is starting to look perpetually amused by him and honestly Rook kinda likes it. "We can."

Rook hands over a bottle of water and one of the meal replacement bars. What he wouldn’t give for a proper meal, something meaty and hot. Or with an ounce of flavor. But he digs into the bar anyway with an eagerness the taste doesn't warrant, because it’s all they have and he’s starving. He eyes one of the other food-like bars with a sigh. They may have to ration what they already have if they can't find actual food soon. 

"So," he says, pulling out the map and unfolding it over his lap. "We're probably around here." He points to a location that should be right if he's been paying attention to the roads they've been near.

Joseph gently nudges his hand about an inch to the left.

"Right, yeah, so we're here and we're trying to go... here?" He taps at an area on the map that's somewhat Northeast of a small lake and straight North of pretty much everything else. It’s so far from anything that he can only hope that fewer people will be up there. 

"Perhaps not so exact, but yes," Joseph says, folding his empty wrapper and tucking it into one of the pockets on the side of their shared backpack.

Rook feels compelled to do the same instead of leaving his trash on the ground with all the other trash like he had originally planned. He doubts anyone would have cared, but he really wants Joseph to like him. Even if he's confident that Joseph already does. "That's, what, another day's walk? Maybe less if we don't run into any more trouble."

"And if we don't sleep, yes." Joseph smiles indulgence. 

And that is a good point. "Right, okay," Rook laughs. "Eventually I'm going to learn how to read this map." He exhales, drawn out and _tired_. The last two days settling into his muscles, leaving him with only fumes to run on. So far he hasn't really been thinking about the future of their situation, not beyond immediate survival, and maybe now isn't the best time to bring it up, but he has to know. "What happens if we get there and there's nothing? Or it's worse? Where does this end for us?"

"Sometimes we can't escape the bad things ahead," Joseph says, voice quietly solemn. There's a history there, of all the bad things he couldn't escape, and Rook can see it plain as day reflected on his face. "I do believe we are meant to survive this."

"You mean like fate? This is all part of some plan?"

Joseph makes a frustrated noise, like the answer is just out of reach. All the information they need is locked away in their own heads, inaccessible. "Would that be so terrible?"

Rook's knee jerk reaction is to say 'Yes' it is so terrible that this is all some inescapable predestined plan that neither of them were given a choice in. Forced participation in this absolute shithole situation where the threat of death is very real and all they have is each other. 

But maybe it's not about where they are now. Maybe it's about where they're going to end up. That wouldn't be so bad, he thinks. "I guess not, if it means we're safe at the end of all this."

Joseph smiles at him, all white teeth and delight. "And why we're here together."

Which is exactly something Rook plans to think a lot about later when every day feels marginally less dangerous and awful. Because Joseph is this constant calming presence who makes Rook's heart beat in double time. It all feels so new again, no matter how long they’ve been together, and he’s still learning how to live with that feeling. With someone he chose and who chose him in return. "We should--" he clears his throat, "we should go,” he says, refolding the map and shoving it in with the rest of their things.

Joseph stands, taking the backpack before Rook can sling it over his shoulders. "You've been carrying it all day," he says.

"I really don't mind."

"I do." Joseph slips his arms through the straps, getting it settled onto his back. There's something about the sight of him, so confident and assured while standing in the woods wearing an old backpack with his hair falling out of the little band holding it up that is both ridiculous and endearing. It's easy for Rook to see what would have made him fall for Joseph in the first place.

He picks up the bow and follows Joseph's lead further into the mountain region.

"So, how long do you think we've--" been together-- "known each other?"

Joseph hums in consideration, stepping over a fallen tree that Rook himself nearly falls over, too focused on watching out for other people. Or bears. They've passed by far too many signs warning about grizzly bears and that's going to be Rook's limit for bad things in a single week. He's just not equipped to deal with bears on top of everything else. Especially not if any of them are like those wolves.

"As long as you've been in Hope County, I would think," Joseph answers. "My family and I have been here for years and we've always been active in the community."

Rook nods because that makes sense. "What exactly do you do?" He keeps walking a few more steps before he realises that Joseph is no longer at his side. There's a sad, pained look on his face and his hand pressed over his mouth.

"It's okay if you don't remember," Rook offers, going back to Joseph. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-- it'll come back sooner or later." The last thing he wants to do is hurt Joseph, but here he is, saying the wrong thing again. He runs his hands up and down Joseph's arms, feeling the soft fabric of the sweater and the hard muscle underneath.

Joseph wraps warm fingers over the back of his neck and pulls them together so that their foreheads are touching. "Thank you," he breathes into that hollow space between them.

It sparks the most familiar feeling inside of Rook that he just can't quite place.

*

The fallen leaves crunch pleasantly underfoot and although Rook would prefer to make less noise, it is fun to stomp down on the bigger piles of the dead leaves and twigs. Especially for the face Joseph pulls each time. Fond, but like he doesn't want to encourage this behaviour which Rook thinks is likely a regular occurrence for them.

He’s just about to start playing twenty questions when he hears a sound off in the distance that makes him stop, straining to listen. "Do you hear that?" A voice, metalic and flat like it's being projected over cheap speakers. The way that sound carries in the mountains, echoing off rock walls and carried up the slopes of the hills, makes it difficult to pinpoint where the voice is coming from, but it doesn’t sound far.

The closer they get the more Joseph becomes lost in his own head, eyebrows scrunched, staring out at nothing. Rook wants to ask him, but the way he's gone quiet, faraway in thought, focused on things that Rook can't see, gives him pause. It's not until they're close enough to hear the voice clearly that Rook thinks he understands why. Joseph keeps touching his chest. Where the scars are. Even if he can't remember, there must be some association with those wounds and the sound of that voice. The man speaking might be the one who had hurt him.

A hot spike of anger stabs at Rook’s heart. "Let's get out of here before anyone sees us," he says, trying to pull Joseph away from whatever painful memory has floated to the surface.

Joseph doesn't move, his firm weight planted in the ground. Still listening.

" _Joseph_ ," Rook tries again.

That gets his attention, finally. Joseph's eyes snap to his, clear blue in the fading light of the day. "Yes, you're right."

They don't get very far before the howling starts, wolves at their feet. 

They're being hunted.

"Shit," Rook yells when a bullet hits the tree beside him, exploding the bark into little fragmented splinters. "Run." He shoves Joseph in front of him, sparing a glance behind him at the bloodied, wild-haired people right at the treeline with their _mutant fucking wolves_. "Go, _go_."

He pulls Joseph to the side and grabs some of the arrows stored in the backpack because it's now or never to test his muscle memory theory. The first shot hits one of the wolves directly in the stomach, mid lunge, and it slump forward into the dirt, but his second shot goes far to left, missing every possible living target. Which leaves him at around fifty-fifty odds on whether or not he knows how to do this. It's a hard 'maybe'.

The third arrow hits a man in the leg which would be great if that was where Rook had been aiming, but of course it wasn't. Doesn't matter anyway when Joseph gets a clean headshot that honestly has him impressed. 

Well, one of them certainly knows what they're doing.

That's three down and an unknown number more that have spread out to flank them and a depressing quantity of wolves. Not great. And the one with the arrow perforating their thigh keeps keeps trying to stand in spite of what has to be a considerable amount of pain. What could he and Joseph possibly have done to earn such devoted pursuit?

"Fuck," Rook says, dragging Joseph into a run. 

The long shadows bleed into night, painting the woods black. Rook has trouble navigating even in the brightest daylight, always too focused on the wrong thing, and not being able to see what's ahead of him doesn't make things any better. He skids down a small slope, barely maintaining his balance. This, fortunately, gives him just the right angle to spot someone approaching from the left; their white shirt nearly glowing in the dark.

"I'll meet you up ahead," he whispers to Joseph. "Don't stop."

"You don't have to be a hero."

"Yeah, but I'm good at it." Rook kisses Joseph, barely more than a chaste brush of their lips, because, well, he wants to. And if he's going to die he'll not have this as a regret. “Go,” he says, pushing Joseph away so at least he’ll be safe if this plan fails. 

Rook lines up his shot, only one arrow left, and fires. It misses. But that's fine, he can turn anything into a blunt object to hit someone with. He charges, swinging the bow at the man's head. It doesn't exactly have the desired effect; the man seems more confused and offended than actually hurt. That's fine, too. Rook can work with that. He pretends to swing again, but ducks behind the man, bringing the bow's grip into his throat with all of his strength.

The man grunts, and hits back, but if Rook wasn't good at this before he's a quick learner. It takes even less time to get him on the ground than it did the last one and Rook keeps pressing. Keeps digging in until he's _sure_ the man won't get up again. Unconscious or dead, he’s a little afraid to check. 

This time it wasn’t an accident.

Rook drops the man to the ground and falls down next to him. The line he’s crossing to survive is drawn with blood. 

He doesn't want to get used to this.

He leaves the bow, now bent the wrong shape, and follows Joseph's path. Or what he hopes is Joseph's path. It's too dark to be sure and he's afraid to call out for him in case the wrong person were to hear. The longer Rook goes without finding him, the more his stomach begins to churn with worry.

Moonlight spills over the dirt as he stumbles through the treeline on to what looks to be the burned remains of a house. A dark smudge of charred wood and ash that blends into the night. He can see the frame of the house, what still stands of it, like a looming skeleton over the broken and fallen beams that crisscross what used to be a home. 

What hadn’t burned has become distorted by the heat, twisted things of metal that cut the dark like teeth. A gaping maw of destruction.

There’s a stomp of feet over dirt and leaves behind him and Rook dives into the wreckage to hide. 

He’s careful not to make a sound, pressing himself in and under a part of the collapsed roof. Sharp bits of wood and metal scratch at the exposed skin of his arms and face and Rook raises an arm to protect his eyes. When he squeezes into a tighter space in heavier shadows something jagged stabs at his side. 

Rook breathes, afraid to move away because whatever is stabbing at him has caught his shirt. If he moves he could dislodge it and alert his pursuers to his presence.

The smell of smoke lingers, choking him, and he has to swallow against a cough. Only a few burned planks of woods stand between him and _them_. Whoever they are. Fear keeps him still, silent, as parts of the house are kicked and turned over, sending ash and dirt cascading to the ground. The support beams are unsettled from their already shaky positions causing that sharp _thing_ at his side to gouge _in._

Rook doesn’t move, doesn’t jerk away. He just breathes through it as minutes continue to stretch on until the hunters are finally satisfied. 

Even after they’ve left Rook still doesn’t move. Afraid of making things worse for himself. He can’t see in the dark and has to rely on touch alone, prying himself away from the thing that tears at skin, smearing blood on his hands. 

And when he does crawl out of his hiding spot his shirt is ripped and wet, his blood a dark stain. 

After that his pace slows significantly as every step sends a shock wave of pain into the jagged split of skin. And now he has to worry about infection on top of all the other things he’s already worried about. He has no memory of the last tetanus shot he received either.

He can feel blood dripping down his waist, soaking the top of his jeans. It’s… not inspiring a lot of confidence. But he has to find Joseph, it’s the only thought that keeps him moving forward.

Rook hears the sound of water first before he reaches a shallow cliffside that borders a narrow river. He thinks, hopes, it’s the same twisting river that he’d seen on the map and not some other body of water entirely. There really aren’t a lot of landmarks he’ll be able to recognise. 

On the edge of the water is a dock with a small shed attached to it that has Rook breathing a little easier. He can rest for a moment. Just a short while to restore some of his energy because he has to keep going until he finds Joseph. 

He staggers down the small path to the shoreline that’s wedged between the gaps in the cliff, nearly hidden from view. The movements hurt, but the pain is lessening. Maybe it really won’t be so bad. 

He doesn’t see Joseph until he steps out of the shadows, gun trained at his head.

“Joseph,” he says and can see the exact moment that Joseph recognises him in the dark.

“I didn’t know where you were.” Joseph rushes to him, touch his face, his neck, his arms with loving hands. “I thought you had been taken. I thought— _Rook_.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” Rook says, letting Joseph draw him into whatever security the shed has for them. 

“You don’t look weak,” Joseph says, then, “are you hurt?” He has Rook’s shirt pulled up and fingers pressed at the wound before he can even think to protest. “You smell like smoke… what _happened?_ ”

Rook hisses at the sting on pain. “I had to hide,” he says, blinking away the spots in his vision as the flashlight clicks on, exactly where he had been staring. “Guess it was more dangerous than I thought.”

Joseph hums displeasure while uncapping one of their last bottles of water and carefully pouring it over the wound. Most of the blood and dirt gets cleaned away, leaving only an ugly line of torn skin.

“It’s… you won’t need stitches,” Joseph says, and Rook has to wonder if he’s only saying that because they don’t have any, “but it will scar.”

“Hurts like a sonofabitch.”

“Yes, I can imagine.” Joseph sighs and lets Rook’s shirt fall back into place. “I would prefer if we had a proper way to clean it.” His voice is full of so much tenderness and concern that Rook can’t help but to kiss him again in spite of the lingering pain. 

It may be the wrong moment, but he has to. Joseph is everything he could have wanted.

He means to keep the kiss light, but Joseph’s lips part, accepting, and Rook presses deeper. It’s not enough, might never be enough, and he tries to pour everything he’s feeling into Joseph’s eager mouth. Licking at his teeth and tongue and taking everything that Joseph gives him in return.

It’s their second kiss, or maybe their _second_ second kiss, and Rook wants so many more. They’re going to build new memories on this.

For the first time Rook truly believes everything might turn out okay.

*

In the morning they stay close to the river, using it as a guide. The wound in Rook's side aches and the minimal sleep from the night before wears at them both. He doesn't know if they're still being hunted, or how many of those people and their fucking _wolves_ are really out there, but Rook doesn't intend to let them get that close again. If it's kill or be killed then he knows what he has to do.

He’s prepared for it.

He is.

He has to be.

But by the afternoon the howling has grown so distant that Rook can barely hear it at all. And by the time night has come again they've finally found somewhere they might be able to _stay_.

It's a small cabin, little more than single room with a low half-wall to divide into the kitchen, and a single bathroom. But it's hidden away under dense trees, tucked into the mountains, and it's nice. Quaint. In spite of the two corpses rotting in the underbrush, or the thick layer of dust that coats every surface inside the cabin. No one living has been there for a while.

There is also a chicken coop outside and while several of the chickens are dead, three remain alive. Clucking at them when they approach and pecking at the weeds that have grown around the fence and into the pen. That has to be a good sign, though Rook has no clue about the care of chickens. 

He tests the generator by the front door which rumbles to life and through the window he can see one of the lights go on inside. "What do you think?"

Joseph is very interested in the chickens. He's crouched by their coop, reaching a hand through a gap in the fence in an attempt to pet one on the head by the looks of it. The chicken gives a curious cluck at him, then nips at his fingers causing Joseph to jerk his hand back. Both he and the chicken seem equally offended by the interaction.

Rook's stomach does something funny, like the first drop on a rollercoaster. He’s falling fast. "I see you're already making friends."

The face Joseph makes is both sarcastic and condescending, which makes Rook smile even bigger, but it smooths out into warm affection as he stands. "It will make a good home," he says.

"I think so too."

Whoever lived here had planned to be off the grid. There's gas to keep the generator running, and a stockpile of food that won't spoil, and Rook has no idea where the water gets pumped in from, but it's clean and doesn't make his head spin. It can be a home until they get their memories back, and if they don't, well, it's not a bad place to live.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **please note the rating change and the new tag!**
> 
> editing this chapter took like six hours because I kept getting distracted how tf do people do this???

On the first day of their new life together Rook wakes curled around Joseph. A perfect fit that feels _right_ , like this is how their life is supposed to be. No one hunting them, no wolves, no horrifying displays of death. Just the two of them in bed before their day really starts. 

The mountains are cool, but not yet chilly. It must not be late enough in the year yet, though outside the leaves have all begin to turn reds and yellows with early autumn. Rook is thankful for the warmth because all they have right now is an old quilt for the two of them. But there are closets and storage under the bed they’ve still have to explore, being too tired to do much else last night. 

He presses a smile against Joseph's neck and waits for him to wake up.

None of this feels real, yet. Rook never thought he would get to have this. Never really thought he would find someone to share his life with. It was always something that would happen _later_. Eventually. One day. 

This is better.

When Joseph wakes he wants to tell him everything, but an uncertainty holds him back. A deep-seated fear that somehow this is wrong. They’ve made a mistake and he’s not supposed to be here. This isn’t _for him._ And the words stick to his tongue like glue. 

Instead he tells Joseph about the boxes of pancake mix that he’d seen in the pantry and offers to make breakfast. If he can’t tell him all of those important things, can’t find the right words to say, then he can do his best to show him. 

Which he does, at first. 

Rook is a disaster in the kitchen. Apparently that hasn’t changed in recent years, in spite of his hopes that it had. Joseph supervises his first batch and when it turns out both under cooked _and_ burnt he takes over. 

Rook sets the table to make up for it and then afterward he does the dishes, too. 

The water in the cabin isn’t drugged. There’s nothing at all wrong with it and when Rook takes a shower, lingering under a spray that does nothing to his mind besides clear it, he realises how lucky they were to find this place. More of those flowers, day after day, could only end badly for him.

He even gets a clean bandage for the wound at his side. 

But the cabin still needs work. A few of the windows are broken; shards of pointed glass stuck in the frame and scattered on the ground. As well as an entire tree branch resting on the roof and the remaining two-thirds of a white picket fence surround the cabin.

Rook decides to repair the fence first, maybe turn it into some kind of halfway decent perimeter. A better sense of security and also a way to keep their chickens from escaping if they ever get out of the pen. 

And bears are still a concern, though he has yet to see one. 

There’s an excess of chicken wire in the shed, along with shovels, a rubber mallet, and a _fishing rod._ When he can, when there’s time, Rook is going back down to that lake and bringing home fish for dinner.

“How do you feel about fish?” Rook asks when Joseph slips by him to grab a shovel.

“No strong opinion, I’m afraid.”

Rook pulls him close, pressing a kiss to his mouth, smiling. “One of these days I’m gonna catch us some dinner.”

Joseph pats him on the arm. “I’m sure you will.”

Which feels a little bit like Joseph is humoring him, but he’ll take it. Joseph has yet to see his skills on a lake, reeling in their dinner. Skills that may even have gotten better in the last few years. 

He uses the chicken wire and the general frame of where the old fence used to be, based on the parts that are still standing, to make a new fence. It’s… kind of a mess. The shape is… odd, but it’s not like Rook has a lot to work with and he is doing his best. That has to count for something.

“What about here, do you think this is far enough?” he calls to Joseph who is digging graves for the corpses still lying right outside where the fence will be.

Joseph leans over to get a better view and Rook puts down one of the fallen posts, then picks it up, steps back a foot, and puts it down again.

“Either one is fine.”

With some consideration Rook decides on a middle point between the two and jams the wood into the ground as a place marker. This would all be a lot easier if he were working with more than best guesses and a vague idea about how to build a fence. 

And if every raise of his arms didn’t cause a spike of pain, traveling down from his ribs. 

He gets a few more of the fence posts down and staples the chicken wire in all the gaps. It doesn’t look too bad from most angles, but the shape is sort of weird and lumpy in some places.

“Should it be more square?” 

Joseph has most of the first grave dug, with dirt piled up at the edge. Beads of sweat roll down his chest that Rook is absolutely _fascinated_ by. 

“It looks fine to me,” Joseph says, leaning on his shovel.

“Yeah?” Rook isn’t so sure. 

“Use your best judgment,” Joseph says. “I trust you.”

Rook laughs. “I don’t know if my best judgement is the way to go here,” he says and continues at Joseph’s curious head tilt. “I mean, you were the one to decide we should come here and that’s worked out for us better than any plan I’ve had.”

“That’s not entirely true, Rook. You kept is alive this whole way.”

“Maybe, but fair warning since you can’t remember: I usually don’t know what I’m doing and I jump into a lot of things without thinking about them first.”

Joseph smiles that same fond affection that Rook is growing addicted to. “I can live with that.”

“Can you?”

“You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

Rook wonders if it’s disrespectful to make out with his husband in an open grave next to two dead bodies. Probably. “You say that, but… I’ve definitely told you this story before, but one time in college I thought it would be impressive if I scaled the dorms to bring breakfast to my girlfriend on her birthday.”

“How did that go?” Joseph asks.

“Not great,” he answers. “I ended up in the bushes with a broken wrist, a sprained ankle, and latte spilled all over my shirt.”

Joseph manages to look both amused and concerned by his reckless behaviour. “Was she impressed?”

“A little, yeah, but that was hours later after we got back from the hospital.”

Joseph chuckles softly. “The fence is fine, Rook. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“I guess.” He may not always trust his own judgment, but he has no reason not to trust Joseph’s.

In the end the fence becomes a near- square shape that Rook is actually pretty proud of. As far as he knows he’s never done this before and while it isn’t pretty it _works_. It’ll keep the chickens in and… probably not keep the bears out, but it might slow them down. And anyone who might come looking for them.

Mostly it’ll give them _time_. A buffer if they have to run or hide. Their home is supposed to be safe, a place where they won’t have to be constantly checking over their shoulder for the next enemy. 

Joseph is still digging away at the earth, all controlled motions and hard lines of muscles. One of the graves is finished already and he's moved on to the second one.

Rook goes inside to quickly change his bandage; the blood hasn’t completely soaked through, but all the work he’s been doing has reopened it where it was beginning to heal. 

He pours a glass of water and brings it outside. “Take this,” he says, handing it over to Joseph who drains the glass in a few greedy pulls. “Thought I’d make some lunch and then help you finish out here.” He extends a hand so he can pull Joseph out.

“That would be wonderful,” Joseph says.

The pantry is an unorganised mess. Half the cans aren‘t labeled and none of the similar items have been grouped together leaving Rook to guess where and what everything is. And the kitchen itself has no refrigerator, only a small freezer chest with a single bag of ice inside. So Rook grabs two things close to the pantry door and hopes for the best.

"Do you want mystery can or--" It's a jar of dehydrated tomatoes. Potentially useful, but not right now. "Hold on," he says, putting the jar back and grabbing another can. "Or another mystery can. What the hell." It takes some searching to find something that’s been labeled ‘soup’ and that Rook has the skillset to make.

"So," Rook starts between mouthfuls of slightly too hot soup, "you mentioned a sister before, is that her?" He uses his spoon to point at the tattoo on Joseph's arm. Rook hadn't noticed it before now-- there hadn't been a lot of time to process many of the little details when running for his life.

"No." Joseph traces the lines of ink with gentle fingers. "She was... she died."

"I'm sorry," Rook says. He shouldn’t have brought it up. 

"It was a very long time ago."

Rook reaches across the table, touching Joseph's wrist, careful not to cover the portrait of a woman who must have meant a lot to him. "I _am_ sorry." One of these days Rook is going to have to stop saying the wrong thing. By sheer chance he may even say the right thing sooner or later. He doesn't register the fond look Joseph is giving him until he curls a hand over his own.

"You have a good heart," Joseph says.

And that has Rook feeling some kind of way he's not ready to name yet. But he's happy.

The rest of their meal goes without Rook saying or doing anything he regrets and Joseph asks more about his college antics. Which were honestly few and far between, but all ending with Rook injured in some way due to a misguided sense of immortality. And also because he dropped out halfway into his third year, which Joseph doesn't judge him for at all. His good mood carries him through washing dishes and into digging the rest of a grave, and even to the point where he's moving the bodies from the underbrush.

When that’s done Joseph says a prayer for the dead with an ease that comes with experience.

*

On the second day of their new life Rook wakes to a sadly empty bed and the sounds of Joseph in the kitchen. He yawns, stretching, and rolls himself out of bed to find a stack of pancakes waiting for him. Rook could get used to this.

He wraps his arms around Joseph's middle, pressing along the line of his back, and digging his chin into the meat of his shoulder to watch as the last of the pancake batter gets poured onto the pan. "Are those blueberries?" he asks, placing a quick kiss to Joseph's cheek because he can. He’s allowed to. 

Joseph leans into him, all early morning warmth that almost makes up for him getting out of bed and leaving Rook alone. "There are several jars of dehydrated fruit," he says, flipping the last pancake over. "I'm hoping to add variety to the pancakes, since the chickens haven't laid any eggs."

"Give them time," Rook says.

Joseph sighs and slides the last pancake onto the stack. It's all golden brown and fluffy and Rook considers the logistics of trying to eat without peeling himself away from Joseph like he knows he has to.

"I'll set the table," he murmurs, pressing another kiss to Joseph's cheek that turns into something deeper when Joseph twists in his arms, hands sliding behind Rook's neck and pulling him in. He almost forgets about the pancakes completely, but his stomach takes the opportunity to remind them both.

Rook does the dishes again after breakfast and they begin their clean up of the cabin. Besides the dust that covers everything, and the pantry with its haphazard item placement, the windows are either broken or murky with a layer of brown film and all of the drawers appear to be filled with whatever fit. Most of them have been stuffed so full they’re hard to pull open. 

He isn't sure why anyone would do that with every single drawer and cabinet.

Rook starts a game of twenty questions while they sort through the lives of the people they buried.

"Your family?" Joseph asks, folding a pair of brand new, still with the tags, sweatpants.

So far they have two piles of clothes going. Those that they can use and those they can't. The pile with the clothes that will fit one or both of them is surprisingly larger than the other one. The sizes, cut, style, and type have no coherent pattern that he can discern. Most things still have their tags, too. Rook is starting to suspect the cabin may have been less of a home and more of a hideout. Who knew that Nowhere Montana would be so fucking weird.

"Parents died when I was a baby," he answers, wondering how he told all of this to Joseph the first time. "My grandmother raised me after that. She had a bad hip, two bad knees, and was deaf in one ear. From the war, she always said. But she did her best to make sure I never wanted for anything. Always did what she could to give me a normal childhood, you know?"

"She sounds like a good woman," Joseph says. "I'm glad that you had someone like her."

Rook takes a breath and exhales an old grief. "Yeah. She passed my first year of college. Got a call from one of her friends that she'd fallen asleep during their girls’ poker night and that was it." He shrugs, like it doesn't still hurt after all these years.

Joseph moves into his space, cupping his jaw and placing a kiss at the center of his forehead. Rook hauls him closer and they adjust the piles of clothes so they can continue to work, pressed together, and sharing each other's warmth.

"Anyway," Rook continues, "I also have two older half-siblings, but we're not close. They were already teenagers when I was born, from my dad's first marriage, and we just never got to know each other. I mean, we send birthday and holiday cards, and I try to call a few times a year, but that's about it." He picks up a red dress, size extra small, with a price tag almost the same as his first car. "Really hope I'm not becoming party to a crime here."

Joseph taps his knee with one of the many discarded price tags they've already pulled from the things they intend to keep, which is a good point. And also Rook has killed one person and may have killed a second, so that's probably worse anyway.

"What about your family?" he asks, instead of thinking about any of the laws he's broken recently.

Joseph goes stiff beside him where before he was all soft and comfortable.

"It's okay if you don't want to, I don't mind," Rook says.

"I'm sure I would have told you before."

"That doesn't mean--"

"I want to," Joseph insists, carefully folding a shirt. All perfect lines and shape. "My mother was mostly absent during my childhood, and my father... he wasn't a good man. Jacob, my oldest brother, did his best to protect me, and later John after he was born, but sometimes the bad things can't be avoided." He unfolds and then refolds the shirt, again and again.

"We lost each other for a long time. I think we lost ourselves then, too." Joseph places the shirt with the others they'll keep, and reaches for another one, but Rook grabs his wrist, holding him still. Joseph nods, relaxing against him. "But we found each other again, and we gained a sister. We gained a _family_. I won't lose them again," he says.

There's no way to know if they're still alive, but Rook doesn't say that. Joseph already knows.

"Tell me about them," Rook says.

Joseph hums and starts sorting through the pile of non-clothing that had been mixed in with everything else. Mostly all still in shopping bags. "Jacob has always been the strongest of us. He had to do so much to survive and... I only wish that I had found him sooner. That I had been there for him before he forgot his value as more than a _weapon_." He untangles himself from Rook to stand up and start putting things back into drawers.

Rook follows his lead and shoves all the things they don't want into the now empty shopping bags and slides them under the bed where they can be a problem for another time. He doesn't say anything, waiting for Joseph to continue.

"John is..." Joseph pauses in search for the right words, "he wants to be a good man, I know he does, but he went through so much pain when he was so young. He's my brother and I love him and I will do everything I can to help him be the man I know he can be. He's smart, and he can do anything he puts his mind to, so I believe in him.

"And Faith, she has more love in her heart than anyone I know. She wants to help people. She wants to ease pain and suffering and I am so grateful to have her in my life. She--" Joseph's breath catches and shudders release.

"You'll see them again," Rook says. If he believes it hard enough maybe it'll come true. He doesn't know, but what else can he say.

"Yes," Joseph says, offering a brittle smile. "I can take the pantry if you would get the windows and the dust." It’s a way out of having to talk about his siblings anymore and Rook lets him have it. 

He starts with the single unbroken widow pain in the kitchen so he can continue to stay near Joseph. "Favorite color?" he asks, gently pushing a broken shard of glass to the ground outside so he can reach through the open hole without getting cut.

"I've never had a preference, though I am becoming partial to green," Joseph calls from the shadow of the pantry interior.

"That's cheating," Rook says with a laugh. "What if I said these days I really love blue?"

"Do you?"

"Well, yeah," he says. Everything about Joseph is becoming his favorite thing.

Joseph laughs, sending a shiver of happiness of his spine. And Rook can now see his own reflection in the mostly clear glass, he own bright smile staring back at him.

"Hobbies?"

"I used to draw,” Joseph says. “As a way to clear my mind by getting it all out onto paper, but I haven't had much time for it lately."

"Lots of time now," Rook replies.

Joseph is quiet for a moment, and Rook looks back, trying to spot him in the shadows. "I suppose you're right,” he finally answers. “What about you? Any hobbies?"

"Do power naps count?" Rook has to think about it. Whether or not anything he does counts as a hobby when most of his life he felt like he was just doing things to reach a specific goal. "I guess, fishing? I'm not too good at it, but I always liked getting up early to go to the lake and just spend the day with the fish."

“The lake nearby might be safe,” Joseph says. “Is that part of your plan to catch us dinner one of these days?”

"Yep.” As soon as he can.

*

That night Rook wakes to Joseph screaming.

"Joseph, wake up, come on, please," Rook begs, dragging Joseph's hands away from where he's clawing at his face, his hair, his eyes. Rook's heart is in his throat, threatening to burst, terrified of whatever has hold of Joseph. Whatever things are buried in his head that were better off forgotten. " _Joseph!_."

Joseph's eyes snap open, wide and wild and _scared_. He sucks in a ragged painful breath that scratches at the air as his eyes dart around the room, panicked, like he hasn't realised he's awake yet. "Rook," he whispers a rasp of pain.

"I'm here, I'm right here." Rook is curled half over Joseph's body, just trying to breathe through his own fear. "You were having a nightmare. I thought-- fuck. I thought someone was in here." His heart was sent racing out of his chest. He'd been so afraid that Joseph was being hurt while he slept beside him, helpless. He runs fingers through Joseph's hair, long and silky soft out of its usual bun, and presses a kiss to his mouth.

Joseph sits up, bringing Rook with him. "I'm okay, I'm--" He sways forward, licks into Rook's mouth, kissing like that will chase the nightmares away faster. All sliding wet tongues and pressure.

"Fuck." Rook pulls away because he _should_ , not because he wants to. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Joseph's eyebrows pinch together, fingers twisting in the sheets, curling into himself. "I saw fire,” he whispers. “The world was on fire and everywhere I looked there was only death. I couldn’t find you. I couldn’t find _anyone_."

Rook can’t imagine how horrible that would be, dream or not. "It's okay now, it's over," he says trying to comfort, trying to help and not knowing how.

"No." Joseph pushes him away. "No. It wasn't a dream, Rook. _I saw it_. I felt it, all of it. The fire burning me, the smell of death choking me. I've seen this before, I know I have."

"In the past? Was that-- did something happen?" Rook wants to understand, but he _doesn't_. Joseph isn’t making any sense.

"No, not like that."

"I don't... Joseph, I don't understand. Is it the things we've seen? We've been surrounded by death," he gestures toward the graves outside, "could your mind be mixing up something you've seen with something you're afraid of? That's what nightmares do. They're not real."

" _No_ ," Joseph's voice is all rough desperation. "It's going to happen, Rook, it's--” he pulls away, suddenly too much space between them. “You don't believe me."

"What you're saying is impossible,” Rook says because Joseph is scaring him and he doesn’t know what to do. “It's not real, it can't be."

"Please," he grabs at Rook's hands, bringing them up to his heart. "Please believe me. I need you to believe me."

"Joseph, I--"

" _Please_."

Rook exhales all of his doubts and better reasoning because Joseph is asking him to believe. Even if it can't be real, Joseph needs him on his side. "Okay, alright. If you say it's real then... I trust you. But I don't know what that means we're supposed to do." If Joseph is right that he's seen this before, then they might already have answers, but if they do they remain locked away with everything else.

Joseph tucks himself into the curve of Rook's body. “Thank you.”

“I trust you,” he says, even if he knows the nightmare can’t be real that doesn’t mean there isn’t something else lurking in the shadows of Joseph’s mind. Something just as terrifying. 

They sit there in the dark, taking comfort in their proximity, and Rook runs his fingers up and down Joseph’s spine, counting each bump, tracing old scars, and memorizing the feel of what he's forgotten. The sheets have slipped down, revealing more of Joseph's skin, though he knows they both went to bed at least partially clothed.

Still, there's a lot of Joseph on display and Rook tries to shift his weight back, afraid of showing just what the close contact is doing to him.

Joseph's thumbs dig into his hips, keeping him from pulling too far away. "You don't have to hide from me," he says quietly, breath warm against Rook's neck.

Rook shift again, but Joseph only digs in harder. "Doesn't really seem like the best time..."

"I am your--" Joseph sighs frustration where all Rook hears is _husband_. His hands spasm against Joseph's spine with a new kind of want. "I would not keep you from this."

Rook's laugh bursts out of him before he can stop it. "It's not about me," he says, "we're here together and," he groans, "I don't know why you chose to marry me when I'm trying to comfort you and now we're both distracted because my dick is hard. You deserve better."

"I deserve _you_ ," Joseph says with a kind of severe earnestness that Rook just doesn't know how to handle. Whatever first started them on this path must have been truly fated, because Joseph fits perfectly into all those jagged spaces of Rook's self.

He's already in so deep even without their shared history. All of the moments that made up their lives together. He wants it all back and its absence is like an open wound in his chest, worse than the one he already has, a hole where all the important parts of him were kept. It hurts not knowing where its gone.

“Are you… you don’t have to--”

“ _Rook_.”

So he kisses Joseph. Tastes his mouth and the lingering mint of toothpaste and he tries to forge new memories. “Let me take care of you,” he says, sliding down the bed.

He gets a hand on himself and his mouth around the thick weight of Joseph’s cock. Heavy and blood hot and he tastes new, like their first time all over again. Joseph's muscles twitch and jump when Rook braces against his thigh and swallows down, deep, taking everything he can. 

Joseph sighs into the air, and Rook feels fingers digging at the base of his skull, a firm insistent pressure. “Rook.”

Rook works himself in long strokes, his hand and the sheets beneath becoming tacky and wet and he grinds down without meaning to. A sound rumbles in his chest, pleased at finally being allowed this intimacy he hadn’t even realised how much he wanted. 

Joseph whispers his name like a broken record, skips and stutters, half formed sounds. A perfect soundtrack as he works his cock with his throat. "Rook, _Rook_ ," he breathes, pulling him up and, _off_ and Rook whines at the loss of Joseph on his tongue.

He lets himself be rolled onto his back, pressing desire into Joseph's open mouth, kisses made of hungry need and spreads his legs open. A space to be filled. An ache in his gut that Joseph can cast away. "Come on, come _on_." His leg hooks around a sweat damp waist, pulling him closer.

"Demanding," Joseph laugh is all rough pleasure against his neck before he stretches over to the small table beside the bed, pulling out a paper bag that he upends over Rook's chest.

"Wha--" Rook tips his head back with a giddy sort of laughter that comes with dozens of travel sized bottles and sample packets of lubricant. "Where did you _get that?_ "

"Found it earlier," Joseph says, pushing in slick fingers that have Rook's toes curling and he swallows the words in a greedy kiss. "I didn't want to assume, didn't want to make you think--"

"I want you," Rook urges, angles his hips up at the first push of Joseph's cock, taking him deep until he's full and perfectly whole. He breathes a contented sigh, digging fingers into ribs, sliding up firm muscles, and up, touching neck and lips. Threads his fingers into long strands of hair and presses Joseph down. "Only you."

Joseph gasps, shuddering, fucks _in_ , forcing Rook to take _more_. He's all sharp rolling need, hard thrusts that have Rook scrambling to hold on.

“You were made to be mine,” Joseph says into another kiss. 

Rook feels like he's cracking apart from his core, and when Joseph wraps a hand around him it doesn’t take long before Rook shatters and _comes_. Breath punched out and raw, panting Joseph's name.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would it be weird to post two series concurrently if both are technically finished? I can't decide.

Rook is tucked into the curve of Joseph’s body, tangled up with legs and blankets and love. He literally cannot remember ever being happier. 

This life could be perfect. 

It doesn’t matter if he’s had a hundred morning like this before, this one is the best. It feels new again. Like something special that he has to cherish.

He traces the rough lettering carved into Joseph’s skin, the word right above his groin. _Lust_. It ruins his good mood, somewhat, the reminder that out there is a person capable of harming good people. Of harming _Joseph._

“You’re awake,” Joseph says, catching his hand as it runs over the S.

“You didn’t deserve this.”

Joseph laces their fingers together and brings Rook’s hand up, pressing lips to his knuckles. “After last night I might disagree.”

“No one deserves that.” He knows Joseph is trying to play it off as a joke, that it’s an old scar from an enemy they don’t know and therefore can’t run from or try to fight, but Rook hates it. Hates that Joseph is left with a reminder of something he should be allowed to forget.

Joseph rubs his thumb over the back of his hand, a softly comforting gesture. “I suppose not.”

Rook kisses him and rolls off the bed, pausing with one foot on the floor. “I’ll make coffee,” he says, “and feed the chickens.”

He drapes the sheets over Joseph who is yawning, looking like he’s already planning out their day, and makes a quick stop in the bathroom to piss. Rook has never been a morning person, but he’s trying to adjust to a more normal schedule to match Joseph’s. It’s a little weird being awake in the morning because he just woke up and not because he hasn’t gone to sleep yet. It might be too much to hope that he’d fixed that bad habit in the missing years.

Rook yawns again, stretching his spine with a loud, mostly pleasant crack and sets the water on the stove to boil. What he wouldn’t give for an actual coffee pot. 

The nights get cold enough that he has to shove his bare feet into boots to walk outside. It’s nice, though. A lot better than where he grew up around this time of year and he’s almost sure that’s one of the reasons he chose to move out here.

“Breakfast,” he calls, tossing the feed into the pen. They haven’t produced any eggs since he got here and he doesn’t know enough about chickens to even guess if that’s normal or not. Joseph hasn’t been too concerned, which Rook isn’t entirely convinced that has anything to do with him actually knowing anything about chickens as much as it is about him being very confidant regardless. “Eat up, guys.”

The feed gets stored in a sealed metal container and Rook heads back inside, kicking his boots off at the door.

The shower is running.

Rook has a handful of seconds for a biased internal debate before he shuts the stove off. 

He slides in behind Joseph, folding against his back.

“Good morning,” Joseph murmurs. 

Rook hums, sliding hands through the soap on Joseph's skin. He loves this, the easy touches he's getting used to all over again. "Morning," he says into Joseph's shoulder, licking at the water trailing down his neck, making Joseph sigh and push back into him until they're flush together. He's hard, they both are, and Rook pushes against the soapy wetness of Joseph's ass and drags fingers over Joseph's cock. "Tell me what you want."

"Give yourself to me," Joseph orders, laying a hand over his, all the soap and slick mixing together. Washing away, down the drain. Rook pushes harder, a grind of pleasure and demand, giving himself over.

He feels Joseph spill over his fingers, hears the exhale of breath under the spray of water. Rook lays a palm flat over his lower abdomen and presses Joseph back, taking his own pleasure in return.

At least the water stays warm while they linger there. Rook is determined to wash every part of Joseph, unable to force himself away now that he’s allowed this indulgence. 

“We can’t stay in here all day,” Joseph breathes laughter into a kiss.

“We could try.”

Almost the moment the words leave his mouth the water starts to turn cool likes its chosen to side with Joseph. 

“I don’t know how you did that,” he says, shutting the shower off, “but I am impressed.”

When they finally get out of the shower, dripping wet and happy, Rook has to restart his attempts at making them a now very late morning coffee. He still doesn't bother getting dressed, though Joseph doesn't share that sentiment and pulls his pajama pants back on. They don't have a system yet, a means of working around each other without getting in the way, but Rook finds that he likes the gentle bumps and touches while they figure it out.

Joseph grabs a jar of dried strawberries and a case of oatmeal, which is disappointing compared to the pancakes, and sets the tin of instant coffee down beside where Rook has set the mugs.

Rook grabs him around the waist and pulls him into another kiss. This domesticity, this… freedom to show affection whenever he wants is so entirely new that it’s hard to not take every opportunity to do so. The last time he remembers being in a serious relationship he was barely twenty and this is so completely different. It’s better than anything else. 

“I’ll get the sugar, Sugar,” he says and dodges Joseph swat to his stomach as he adds a heaping spoonful of sugar for his own coffee and a more modest amount for Joseph. 

“I’m not sure that’s a nickname I want,” Joseph says.

“Honeybear?”

“Rook…”

“Sweetums?”

“Please stop,” Joseph laughs.

Rook thinks for a moment. “Da—“

“ _Rook_.” Joseph’s face is bright red, eyes wide, and Rook swoops in to plant a kiss to his cheek. 

That is definitely something to be explored later. Or maybe they have. Rook calmly does not think about it too hard, he’s still entirely naked.

“So,” he clears his throat, changing the subject from potentially dangerous territory to something a little less… heated. “I was thinking about how we met. Or, I mean, I was thinking about how I can’t remember how we met and how much I want to. There are a lot of important parts of our lives missing, but we’ve been in Hope for a while, right?”

Joseph grabs his mug and takes a sip of his coffee, his face unreadably neutral.

“Well, maybe we can find someone who knows us. It shouldn’t be too hard to find people if we aren’t looking for anyone specific and… not everyone can be an enemy. There has to be _someone_ out there who can fill in all the blanks.”

Joseph gently sets his mug down and moves the bowls of oatmeal to the table, hands trembling and his entire body one long line of tension. "And what if we find the wrong person? What if we go looking and the only people we find are those who we've been running from?" 

It’s a valid point. They’ve been lucky so far, but that can’t last forever. 

Joseph turns to him, eyes bright with anger and fear that causes Rook's heart to ache for being the one to make that happen. "I know how difficult it is not to remember when you’re _right here_ and I... I _know you_ , but you’re still _missing_. You’re the only thing that-- I know that if we’re found that you will fight. And I know that you are strong, but you're still _human_ , Rook. What do I do if you die?”

“Joseph…” Rook has been so focused on his own feeling that he hasn’t considered Joseph’s. They’re all they have. 

“I have faith that our memories will return to us, but they can't if we're _dead_." His fists clench and unclench at his sides, like he’s not sure what to do with his hands. .

Rook sets his own mug down and reaches out for him, cupping his jaw and feeling the soft damp hair of his beard. "I didn't think about it, I'm sorry." He can't imagine what it would mean to lose Joseph, can't even imagine living another day without him. Like ripping his heart from his chest, leaving him hollow and empty as he dies. "I won't leave you," he promises, "I won't go looking. I have faith in you, in your faith."

Joseph clutches at his neck, his arms, like he's afraid Rook will slip away if he doesn't hold on tight enough. "I want to remember, I do." He tips forward, tucked into the space Rook makes for him, exhaling warm breath against his shoulder. 

“I know,” Rook says, keeping his voice light. “Why would I think you wouldn’t?”

“I don’t need to go looking to know where we belong.”

Rook laughs. “Yeah? Neither do I.”

Joseph sighs, pulling away just far enough to meet his eyes. "I shouldn’t have overreacted.” There’s still a pinched unhappy expression covering his face. “You are right. There will be someone who knows us; we have to-- we can't wait around for something that may never happen. We can't do nothing."

"I told you last night that I trust you," Rook says. "You believe that our memories will return and I believe you. You’ve never given me a reason not to."

"If," Joseph starts, stops, and starts again, "if they don't, soon, then I will go with you in search of answers. We will do this together."

"Together," Rook says. He wants Joseph with him in everything, and eventually he's going to figure out how to say that.

*

The tree branch on the roof needs to be taken care of, but it it does give Rook an idea for how to better hide their home from anyone in the air. Since the enemy has their own fleet of fucking planes. And wolves. And possibly magic flowers. Fucking hell. Lions and tigers and bears, what the fuck. Rook isn’t sure if he’ll ever be prepared to meet the man behind the curtain.

“Do you think they’re being lead by one person or a collective?” he asks, gathering tall grass and fallen branches that he can tie together to make a sort of camouflage net. It definitely sounds like a good idea on paper, but in practice… well, Rook is mostly sure it’ll work.

Joseph is clearing the last of the glass shards from the broken windows and collecting them before either of them accidentally steps on any. “What?”

They already have plywood cut into the approximate size needed to fill the empty windows and Rook suspects that whatever happened here was long ago enough that the owners had made plans to fix it. Before they were murdered and their bodies left rot, of course.

“The people hunting us. They have to have a leader, right?”

“Sure,” Joseph agrees.

“So, one person or many?”

Joseph’s head tilts to the side in consideration. “The people across the river were different than the ones here, right?”

“I think so.” They certainly had fewer wolves. 

“Then I believe there are many leaders.”

“One for each area?”

Joseph nods. “And another above them.”

“Fucking weird.”

They’ve done so much work on the cabin already that it fills him with a sense of pride. Rook has always lived in apartments as an adult with someone else to take care of things when they broke. The most he’d ever done was to fix a leaky sink and even that took the better part of a day. 

But they’re making this a _home_. And maybe there will be a way for them to keep it, later, when everything goes back to normal.

They work through the morning, with Joseph singing quietly under his breath. The sound fades in and out as he moves around, inside and out of the cabin and Rook hums along like he knows the words.

Until the singing stops and bleeds into a cry of pain. 

“Joseph?” Rook is off the roof and at his side in an instant where Joseph has dropped to the dirt. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Fear chokes him because he doesn’t know, he doesn’t _know_ , and so he can’t fix it.

Joseph blindly reaches out for him, draws him in, nails digging and clawing at his shirt. Pressing deep into muscle and Rook does nothing to stop him.

"I'm here, I'm right here," he says desperately. The dirt is cold under his knees, through the thick denim of his jeans. Joseph's ragged breathing plays in tandem with the sounds of the mountains. The wind whistling through the trees, the low hum of the generator, and the chickens clucking along without concern. "I'm right here." He presses a kiss to Joseph's temple, finally understanding that the nightmare is back, the vision, and that there is nothing he can do but watch helplessly.

Minutes tick by that feel like hours, stretched out and awful, when Joseph's hands go soft on his arms and the wire pulling him tight is cut. For a moment Joseph is still only to suck in a breath that is painful to Rook's ears.

"I--" Joseph's eyes dance around their home, manic and frightened, only to land on Rook's face. "I know it's real," he says, more guarded than he's ever been with him before. It causes something in Rook's heart to clench painfully.

There are far too many uncertainties in Rook's life these days to not put his faith in this one thing. If nothing else, he believes in Joseph. "I know," he says and means it. "I believe in you more than anything."

Joseph breathes happiness, folding into him. "I know there is a reason for this."

Maybe all of this used to make sense. Maybe they've already done this song and dance before where Joseph tries to convince him that what he sees is real. And maybe Rook knew right away the first time, didn't give Joseph a reason to doubt him. Or maybe not. Either way it's not fair to make Joseph go through it all twice. He can't remember if he's always been a good partner, a good _husband_ , but he's determined to do his best _now_.

“I believe you, I do.” He cradles Joseph’s face in his palms and presses kisses to his eyelids, his nose, his mouth. “It’s real.”

Joseph’s hands twist his shirt, pulling it tight. “Thank you, I— thank you.”

"Lets go inside," he says, helping Joseph stand and brushing all the dirt from their clothes. There’s a need in his gut to do anything he can to let Joseph know that he can put his faith in him. "I'll make some tea and we can... I don't know. We can finish the rest of this tomorrow."

"I'm alright, Rook," Joseph says. "I'm sure this has happened many times before."

"Please?" Rook noses at the side of Joseph's neck, leaving a light kiss to his throat, tugging at his belt. "I want to take care of you."

Joseph sighs exasperation, allowing Rook to lead him inside and get him bundled in all the extra blankets on their bed. "This really is unnecessary," he laughs. "It's only a minor headache, it'll pass."

" _Headache?_ " Rook may play up the mother hen act just a little more than he has to, but he cares and he's completely lost as to what to do here. Adrift in a sea of questions where all the answers are _missing_. If Joseph's visions are real, and he's choosing to believe that they are, then what can he do? If they're some amalgamation of a past horror and a deep rooted fear, then how can he stop it? If it's something else, something physical, then how does he ever fix it?

So he bundles Joseph up in their bed where he can at least know that he's safe, if only temporarily, and makes tea. "You didn't say anything about a headache last night."

"You are a ridiculous person," Joseph says fondly, accepting the mug with a pleased smile, taking a moment to breathe in the steam.

Rook curls in next to him on the bed, sharing his space. The tea is some kind of herbal mix that smells like licorice but taste like peaches and lemon. It's pretty far from his usual preferences, which don’t include tea at all, but it's what's available and Joseph likes it. So Rook doesn't mind that it's all they have.

"When this mug is empty we're going back outside and finishing the repairs," Joseph says after a few more sips.

Rook groans, but doesn't complain. He's pretty happy with what he has already.

*

The following morning a thick layer of fog covers everything. Obscuring the trees and the mountains beyond and quieting the world around their house. They may as well be the only two people left in the world.

They spend the day in bed getting reacquainted with each other's bodies.

"Fuck," Rook chokes out on a sob as Joseph's mouth sinks over his cock, taking him down, down, nose bumping his groin. Swallowing around him with a practiced ease and sliding long wet fingers _in_. And pressing until Rook goes mad with it. "Joseph, Joseph." He's being broken open and exposed, put on display for Joseph to see everything he has inside. Everything that makes up _Rook_ and putting him all back together in a way that's _better_ , made just for this and Joseph.

He's come twice already, he can't do it again, but Joseph seems determined to prove him wrong. "Please, come on, fuck me." His nerves have been flayed raw, and Joseph hums a current of electricity that sparks in his brain. Toes curling, trying to press up, get more, but he's held down. "Please." Spread wet and open, thighs shaking as another orgasm is pulled out of him.

Rook is a sweaty, shaking mess when Joseph finally, _finally_ , lines up his cock and pushes in. Fucking him like a demand and a promise.

As soon as Rook gets his energy back he's going to map every scar on Joseph's body with his tongue.

*

The next day brings the sun back.

The area surrounding them is still mostly a mystery and Rook wants to find a path to the lake below that won't put them in danger by traveling it. And while they can technically survive on the canned and dehydrated food in the pantry forever, it's been a week and Rook is already craving something fresh. Anything, really. But the chickens continue to refuse to produce eggs, which is fine, probably, and he doesn't know the first thing about hunting and neither does Joseph. So Rook is going to catch some fish.

Maybe.

He’s staying optimistic.

Joseph waves off his invitation to join him on his quest. Instead choosing to stay back at the cabin to fix the part of the chicken pen that has fallen into disrepair, in spite of his personal feelings for the chickens themselves. Rook is so happy to have him.

First he goes East, planning to circle around the area surrounding their home and saving the trip to the lake for last. The mountains are peaceful, calm in a way the rest of the county isn't, where the throws of madness have turned all that beauty into something horrible.

There's an unshakable sense of familiarity as he walks between the trees, the sounds of the birds, and his boots trodding over grass and leaves. Even the smell of the earth and woods sparks recognition in the back of his mind. Has he ever come here with Joseph? Rook has always loved the outdoors, he can't imagine not having brought his husband out here. Or someplace similar. Surely if he chose to move to Hope County he would have taken time to just be outside. 

When things are back to normal, when he can remember, they can go camping and fall asleep under the stars without having to worry is someone is trying to kill them.

Or maybe they've done that a hundred times before. They probably have if Rook had any say in it and he’s sure he would have. He’s positive that he and Joseph are the type to share the things they love. And maybe they have a house like the cabin, a home they take care of, a home they've built a life in. There are so many possibilities that Rook can't wait to remember that life they made together.

It’s like a present just waiting for him to unwrap.

Unless what they've forgotten is much worse than the one they have now. It's a sobering thought. Could anyone have survived here, with all of the death and all of the destruction, without getting blood on their hands? Rook has to believe that the good parts of his life will make up for all the bad things he fears they must have done to survive.

The further he gets from the cabin the more there are signs of other people. Splintered and broken tree bark made from bullets, though he doesn't find any bodies, so he can only hope whoever was here got away. Some of the trees are burned, the ground around them scorched and blackened. It looks controlled, as well, never spreading too far in any direction. An almost perfect circle of destruction.

He's careful of how far he gets from home, even when an insistent curiosity gnaws at him, scratching at his skull to go _further_. There could be more to see, more to learn. _Answers_ to uncover. But he will not betray Joseph's trust by putting himself in unnecessary danger. He won't. 

He _promised_.

Rook turns his back on any secrets the woods have to reveal, and begins his search for a path to the lake.

He can smell the water before he sees it through the treeline. The sun glitters over the lake, turning it to liquid gold. 

In the distance he can see a plane flying circles in the air, searching for things that Rook hopes it never finds. Maybe there are others like him and Joseph who are only trying to live their lives away from all the violence. Perhaps there are even people fighting to make things _better_. Fighting to save as many people as possible.

Most of the lake is exposed to the open are, too risky even for the rewards of fresh meat. But there is a small part of the lake that curls in toward the trees. If he times it right he could spend a few hours here during the day, completely hidden from view. It leaves a giddy joyous feeling in his chest all the way back to the cabin where he finds Joseph sitting on the ground, writing in a empty journal he found, with one of the chicken asleep in his lap.

Rook can't help the grin that spreads across his face, utterly enamored. "Finally work out your differences?" he asks, dropping to the ground beside Joseph.

"Apparently. They liked that I fixed the insulation problem with their coop." Joseph presses a kiss against the side of Rook's mouth and leans into him with careful movements so as not to wake the chicken. "My leg has been asleep for a while but I didn't want to disturb her," he admits with a sigh.

Rook laughs and scoops up the chicken who clucks unhappily at him. "Come on, back to your pen," he says, depositing her back with her friends, and helps Joseph to his feet. He twirls them around, an expression of all the love in his heart.

"Wha-- Rook?"

"Tomorrow I will bring you fish and we will eat like kings," he says like he wouldn't be happy just not eating like a survivalist for a day. It gets old.

"I see." Joseph laughs into the kiss, guiding them back inside. "You say the sweetest things."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's either one long chapter left or two short chapters, but idk which works better

Rook isn’t nearly a good at fishing as his confidence would suggest. He’s too impatient, too easily distracted, too likely to get caught up in his own head while enjoying a day by the water. But he still likes it. His childhood was filled with early mornings at the lake near his home where it was just him and the fish and the sun reflecting off the water making him regret forgetting to wear sunscreen again. 

It’s always been a way for him to settle himself; calm his mind and work through his problems. When he can remember them. 

Sometimes things are just the way they are and the lake provides no answers.

And sometimes it provides fish. A big, lovely trout that will taste delicious.

Rook nearly hollers with joy before he catches himself from alerting anyone or anything in the area to his location. That would be a great way to end his day after his victory with the fish; getting killed by one of those people with their wolves. 

He guts and cleans the trout as best he can, sitting by the dock with only a hunting knife, the orange glow of the afternoon sun, and the determination not to bring the smell back to the cabin. It’s a lot better done far away from home where they won’t have to live with the smell of fish guts later. Not that Rook isn’t still greatly concerned about bears wandering around and catching him by the lake, but that’s a less immediate problem since he has yet to see a single bear. 

Vigorously scrubbing his hands in the water probably isn’t as helpful as he wants it to be, however.

He’s almost back home when he encounters the first person who hasn’t tried to kill him on sight. A woman, about his age, hair pulled tight into a ponytail, and hiking through the woods with an energy that speaks to purpose.

The beat of his heart jumps into double time as a cold sweat envelopes him and his mind races to prepare him for another fight. This is too close to home, to Joseph, and all he has is a knife compared to the gun she carries at her side.

He’s planning out how to lead her away from the cabin when she turns to him with a smile and a wave and says, “Hey there! You sure don’t look like a Peggie.”

Rook had no idea what that is supposed to mean, but he nods, playing along for now. “No, ma’am,” he says, jogging to catch up with her. “So, what brings you this far North?”

"Same thing as you, I'd imagine," she says pleasantly. "Avoiding them Peggies and try'n not to get my brain scrambled by the cult." She laughs, dry and cracking apart from whatever history she’s reliving. "I guess that's what we're all doing these days, huh. I'm hoping to skirt around the edges, avoid those fucking Judges, you know? I plan to meet up with the Whitetails since I figure I've spent enough time just look'n out for only me.” She eyes him critically. “You one of them? The Whitetails?"

"Uh," he says, utterly lost in the conversation. What could a cult possibly have to do with whitetails and judges? It’s like they’re speaking two entirely different languages. "No, ma'am. I'm just trying to live my life without being shot at."

She nods. "Ain't we all, Honey. Well you look capable, a real strong type, so if you ever change your mind I'm sure Eli would have a place for you. The resistance can always use more people, you know? she says as they approach the cabin, "Well shit, I didn't know there was a house this far out here. This where you been living?"

Rook can see Joseph through the window, can see when he spots the woman beside him and the curious furrow of his eyebrows as he comes outside to greet them.

"Motherfucker," the woman whispers. " _Motherfucker_." She has her gun in hand and time appears to slow. "It's you, you fucking monster. Don't fucking move."

The color drains from Joseph's face and Rook's heart beats a staccato of _Joseph Joseph Joseph,_ in overwhelming fear. The fish drops into the dirt as Rook pulls the knife from his pocket, mind and fingers numb. “Put down the gun,” he says, voice sounding hollow and distant. Like it belongs to someone else. 

The woman’s hands shake in fear or anger, a light tremble that spreads up her arms as her knuckles go white on the gun. “No. _no_ ,” she says, repeating the word over and over in an obsessive chant as she reaches back for a radio clipped at her waist. 

But she doesn’t get to make the call; she doesn’t get to hurt Joseph. She can’t take him away from Rook.

She looks confused for a moment. Then panicked, desperately trying to save her own life; throat torn open in a bloody, useless gurgle.

This is the first time Rook has meant to take a life and he hates it. 

"Rook," Joseph says from somewhere very far away. "Rook?"

"I dropped the fish." That seems important.

"You dropped the--" Joseph kneels down in the dirt beside him, blood soaking into his jeans and that will have to be cleaned too. "Rook, I need you to look at me," he says, gentle fingers pressed to his jaw, forcing his attention away from the woman he just killed.

“I didn’t—“ Rook inhales painfully. “I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want to kill her, I didn’t, but what choice was there? Joseph, it was so easy, I knew exactly what to do.” He holds tight to Joseph, afraid of letting go. “Is this… have I— have I done this before? It was _so easy_.”

“Rook, listen to me,” Joseph says, touching his face, wiping at the moisture under his eyes, “you’re a good man. You _are_.”

“How can you know?”

“Because I know you.” Joseph leans forward, pressing their foreheads together while the woman is made to bear witness. "You did what you had to. She made her choice, as did you and you saved me Rook. You chose to save me."

"I won't let anyone hurt you."

“I know,” Joseph kisses him, just a light press of his lips over Rook’s, and pulls him to standing, away from the blood and choices. "Let's get cleaned up."

"The fish," Rook says, waving in the direction he dropped it. "I caught a fish for you. For us."

Joseph kisses again, like he’s trying to comfort as best he can, him in spite of all the blood and dirt and death. "Go on," he says, "I'll find it."

Rook is grateful to have Joseph as he stumbles inside, toeing off his boots, then pulling them off with force when they remain stubbornly on his feet. He leaves a trail of clothes on the way to the bathroom to be picked up and washed later when he can scrub all of the blood out until there isn't a trace left.

The water feels warmer than it is, his skin having gone cold with fear, and it feels better than any shower he's had before. He lets the water wash away the blood on his hands, running pink and then clear, swirling down the drain and taking all of his regrets away. He would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant saving Joseph.

Eventually Joseph joins him and Rook shows him all the ways in which he is the most important person in his life and later they bury the woman in a grave beside the others. After a dinner of fresh, pan seared trout and mashed potatoes from a box. 

Not everything can be perfect.

*

Rook wakes feeling well fucked and lazy with so much sex he has to wonder if he ever got used to this before he forgot. He also has to wonder if he ever got used to an empty bed when Joseph had left before he even opens his eyes. 

He swallows against a rising panic that threatens to choke him. There’s no reason to believe that anything is wrong this time; they’ve taken so many precautions, but yesterday proved that there is always more danger. Always more people who would hurt them. But the more he wakes up the more Joseph’s soft voice filters into his ears from outside. Where he’s quietly talking, sounding far too serious for so early in the day.

Rook yawns and stretches, rolling out of bed with all the grace of someone whose muscles are both sore and pleasantly stretched. "Joseph?” he calls out and when he opens the door Joseph is at the chicken coop, one hand reaching inside. "Poking at the chickens isn't going to make them like you more."

Joseph sighs and dusts his hands off on his jeans. "They still aren't producing any eggs and I wanted to know why. Maybe it's personal?"

"Must be," Rook says, holding out his hand for Joseph to take and drawing him back inside. "You shouldn't me dressed yet. I have plans for you that involve both of us naked."

"And _I_ had plans to make breakfast," Joseph says like he actually thinks that's a better idea than Rook's, though he's taking off his jeans and allowing himself to pulled back into bed.

*

They spend their days together. Rook will usually fish for dinner when the sun draws long shadows across the lake and Joseph will join him, though Rook can tell he isn't all that interested in the act of fishing itself. He's there for Rook. Support and company, regardless of if any fish are caught. Joseph will often sit in the shade, watching, with his journal open against his bent knees as he writes out thoughts and ideas that Rook doesn't always understand.

But mostly he sketches the world around them. Sometimes he draws Rook when he think that he's not looking. Rook is always looking, he can't help it. The pictures of him are by far his favorites, because sometimes Joseph will show him the finished work and Rook can see himself just as Joseph sees him. It always feels intimate and special in a way Rook can't describe.

Or maybe it just feels like being in love.

Other times Joseph will draw the things he sees in his visions. In lines of pencil on paper where Rook can see a future that is horrifying in its complete destruction. There will be nothing left and he doesn't know what to do. He wants to help, tries to in every way he can. He listens and believes and _trusts_ , but he wants to do more. Anything in his power to ease this burden from Joseph's shoulders.

He says as much the first time Joseph shows him his vision.

"It's enough for now that you believe me," Joseph says and Rook wishes he could remember what he had done the first time Joseph had told him about any of this. Surely that Rook had a plan. _Has_ a plan. 

It's those times that he wants his memory back the most.

But... he could get used to this new life. They're together and they're safe and if the world were to end tomorrow they would at least have each other. If he never got his memory back he could still be happy here, for the rest of his life.

*

They're rounding the corner into the fifth week of their new life with Rook, on his stomach, letting Joseph do everything he wants. Rook had barely been awake when Joseph had slid into him, hard need and that gentle roll of his hips. Spreading him open like this is exactly what he's meant for. He gets a knee braced on the bed to push back, taking Joseph deeper, all gentle slide of pressure.

It feels good enough not to demand a harder pace.

He lets Joseph keep it slow where Rook can drift in pleasure without having to give much input besides occasionally vocalizing his need. Comfortable and unhurried, his cock drags on the sheets with every push of Joseph inside him. It isn’t the friction he _needs_ , but he doesn't want to touch. Not yet. 

"I could get used to this," he says, too much of his voice getting lost in the the bend of his arm. 

Joseph kisses up his spine, sucking marks after each press of his lips. "Aren't you already?" He taps against Rook’s jaw, urging him to turn his head for a wet lazy kiss. “How are you real?” he whispers, giving voice to exactly the thing Rook has been wondering. How is this real? How is this the life he’s been given?

“Dunno,” Rook says, “magic?”

“Cute.” Joseph shifts back, forcing Rook onto his knees.

“Gonna make me work for it?”

“I am,” Joseph says, folding himself along the line of Rook’s back and pushing in with a hard snap of his hips. “I like your active participation.”

Rook groans, reaching out for the headboard to give him better leverage to meet Joseph halfway. “I like when you just take care of me.”

Joseph kisses his shoulders, the top of his spine, and breathes laughter against his neck. “I like that, too,” he says, taking hold of Rook’s cock and stripping it with perfect, clever fingers. “I want to give you everything.”

“Fuck-- Joseph--” He grabs at Joseph’s thigh, digging into the meat there, and rocking back against him. “You do, you have, you--” His voice comes out _rough_ , pitched lower than he meant it. The pace doesn’t really speed up so much as Joseph makes every push and pull have _purpose_ until Rook is shaking, gasping out his orgasm and spilling over Joseph’s hand and dripping onto the sheets. “Fuck, I--”

Joseph sucks marks into his skin until Rook has the energy to turn, just enough to catch his lips in a kiss as his hips stutter a broken rhythm.

“ _Joseph_ ,” Rook pleads.

Joseph fuck in, shuddering with a groan, and comes. He’s careful when he pulls out, easing Rook onto his side, and stretching out on the bed next to him. 

“We’ll have to change the sheets again,” Rook laughs, tugging as much of the bedding as he can reach without moving and letting it fall to the floor. If keeping the bed clean becomes their biggest problem, then he will take it and be glad for it. 

"I love you," Joseph breathes, warm against his cheek, in the private space they've created. On this bed, in this cabin, where they're the only two people in the world.

Rook’s breath catches in his lungs. It’s one thing to think it, but another thing entirely to hear it said. He’s never been good with words and suddenly there are a hundred and one things all tangled up in his mouth, trying to spill out at the same time. 

"You," he says, "I--" all of it is _there_ in his heart, threatening to burst out and Rook wants it to, wants all the words to come out. But Joseph is laughing like he _knows_ and Rook has to kiss him again. Has to feel all of that laughter on his tongue, down his throat. Because Joseph knows him better than anyone and he still chose to love him. “I do-- I _also_ \--”

“I know, I understand,” Joseph says; his face a bright expression of happiness like it’s _okay_ that Rook’s words are useless. Because he _knows_.

“Let me--” Rook presses a last kiss to Joseph's lips and slides out of bed, grabbing his pajamas. "I'm going to make breakfast today," he says with more confidence than his ability should allow. “I want to.” He’ll show Joseph everything until he can say it.

The arch of Joseph's eyebrow implies his doubts about Rook in the kitchen, but he still looks so happy that Rook _almost_ crawls right back into bed with him. "Are you sure?"

"It's just pancakes." Rook has nearly made them once before and watched Joseph do it several times. That has to be sufficient to get it right on his own.

Plus the directions on the box of pancake mix only include two steps, not counting the one where he will have to cook, but there's a little picture of pouring batter onto a skillet. So that bolsters his misguided confidence a little more. He can do this, no problem. And Joseph is close by in case things go wrong. Which he hopes they won’t because he wants to do this for once. For Joseph.

But first, coffee. Rook gets the mugs, the sugar, that sad instant coffee that comes in fucking bulk, apparently. Why couldn’t anyone have hoarded real coffee grounds? Not once has Rook found any in a single prepper stash, like they can prepare for the end of the world, but not with any degree of luxury. Like--

And just like that, Rook remembers.

Everything.

*

_Rook has been tracking a single shipment of Bliss around the entire Henbane fucking River. Every time he gets close there’s another disaster requiring his attention. Another person who has to be saved. Another Angel screaming in his direction. It’s been days of being just one step behind this convoy of Bliss trucks picking up container after container to spread around the rest of the county._

_He’s had enough._

_There are only three possible stops left and regardless of where it goes next, it’s going to hit all of them. So Rook picks one and lays a fucking trap._

_After making a big show of leaving the Henbane for the Valley, first._

_He’s at least half sure that the Peggies have been watching him especially close while he tries to destroy their largest Bliss shipment yet and that’s how they’ve been avoiding him so well. Distractions or not the Peggies are still total morons. On Rook’s worst days he should be able to blow up a few trucks with his eyes closed which makes their sudden competence suspicious as hell._

_So he pretends to leave to the valley. Talks loudly about taking some stress-free time to himself, getting some drinks at the Spread Eagle, maybe ruining John’s day a little bit. All the things he would love to do more than chase a convoy of Bliss around the Henbane for nearly a week._

_Rook wants a break._

_Instead he crosses the river, drives South until there’s no one around, deposits his car in a ditch, and walks back into the Henbane on foot. It’s a miserable experience the entire time because he knows if he’s spotted, even by his own team, it’ll ruin his plans. Eventually he sneaks his way back to the place where he’s going to set his trap._

_It takes a full day for the convoy to show up, since Peggies can never be even the smallest amount accommodating. He spends a full day waiting and planning and when the trucks stop and begin loading up on Bliss, Rook gets to work._

_He crashes several cars together on the main road, forcing a detour on a smaller dirt path for anything larger than an ATV. It winds around and out of sight from most of the Peggies in the area, and weaves through small clusters of trees that make for good hiding places. Then he sets down approximately thirty explosives which is almost certainly overkill, but Rook has spent way too much time on this chase and he’s ready to end it._

_Of course then things get complicated because nothing can ever be easy for him._

_It’s complete fucking chance that Joseph Seed shows up._

_Or maybe it’s fate._

_Either way Rook spots him on the main road, his car slowing at the pile-up Rook has made. The driver looks around for an alternate route and Rook sees the moment he decides on the detour. With all the explosives._

_Rook doesn’t want Joseph dead, there’s no justice in that._

_“Fuck,” he spits because this isn’t fair, he shouldn’t have to stop this. This could all be over. But Rook lines up his shot and shoots out the front tire._

_The rifle isn’t suppressed and Joseph always seems to have a sixth sense for him anyway, so he comes down from his hiding place, leaving his gun behind to keep the nervous Peggie driver from getting the wrong idea, and meets Joseph at his car. The driver remains in the front seat spitting Peggie nonsense about Rook getting what’s coming to him._

_“There are better ways of getting my attention,” Joseph says, setting his personal bible down on the roof of the car._

_Rook shrugs, attempting to gauge the distance between them and the explosives. “Would you believe that I had no idea you’d be here?”_

_Joseph’s face gives away nothing. “I would, yes. Would you believe that I was searching for you?”_

_“I’d have a harder time believing you weren’t.”_

_That gets Joseph to smile. If they weren’t on opposite sides of this fight, if he weren’t a violent cult leader, then Rook might find his smile nice. Might find a lot of things about Joseph nice. But they are and he is and Rook doesn’t entertain the thought._

_“I admit you have been taking up a lot of my time since you came here,” Joseph says._

_“Yeah, well—“ The explosives are still on the ground and the trucks are still coming. There isn’t enough time to stop what will happen. “Shit, shit.” He pulls Joseph back, a desperate attempt to put more space between them and this newest disaster as a wave of proximity mines all go off in a perfect sequence of destruction and Bliss._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayy this is almost finished

Rook stands frozen as a thousand and one things play through his mind. All a horrible, inescapable slideshow of choices and actions; _beliefs_. Days and weeks of a life that had never belonged to him, and he had accepted every moment of it as truth, without question. Not beyond a surface glance, not beyond his own assumptions. 

Because the lies fit better than reality ever could.

How many signs had he missed? How many times had he ignored the truth when it was right in front of him?

“Need any help?” Joseph asks from somewhere behind him, his voice a perfect mix of humor and _love_ for a man that doesn’t exist. 

“I—“ Rook’s heart clenches painfully for something that was never real. This shouldn’t have happened. None of this should _ever_ have happened. How could he have thought— how could either of them have thought that— he’s going to be sick. “No, it’s fine. I’ll—“ The sound of his own voice grates at his ears. 

This is all wrong.

“Are you alright?”

Five minutes ago Rook was in love; ready to face anything, even the end of the world, with Joseph at his side. And now he’s hollowed out and empty where he doesn’t know who he’s allowed to be anymore. 

But he knows that whoever he’s been these last weeks isn’t it.

Joseph’s face does something complicated when he turns to him. Fear first, then shock, and hurt, and finally acceptance. Like he already understands what Rook is still trying to figure out. “Rook?” He makes an aborted motion forward, but stops himself, remaining where he is, letting the distance between them remain.

And the final piece of the puzzle slots neatly into place. Because now Rook knows Joseph as he really is as well as how he pretended to be and that makes one thing suddenly clear.

Joseph knows too.

Rook hasn’t felt anger in weeks, but it’s familiar, safe, and he wraps it around himself like a shield. He remembers how to use anger to push away everything else that might stop him from doing what he has to. “You knew,” he says, teeth biting at the words as they leave his mouth. “You fucking _knew_. How long, Joseph? How long have you been _fucking me_ knowing that there was never anything between us?” 

Joseph reacts like he’s been hit and Rook thinks that he should count himself lucky that he hasn’t been. 

“You let me think that—“ Rook had been _happy_. Tucked away where the rest of the world couldn’t get to him, where he could stop fighting and just live. “How long were you going to keep pretending? What was your plan here, Joseph?”

“I wasn’t— I thought that you—“ Joseph looks small, frightened. So unlike all the versions of him that Rook knows, that he can almost believe he’s made a mistake and Joseph is telling the truth. But he remembers Joseph now, and he won’t fall for his lies again. 

“ _How long?_ ”

Joseph meets his eyes and squares his shoulders, finally looking just as self-righteous as he must be after weeks of having his enemy literally on his knees. “I could never forget my brother’s voice,” he says. “I knew Jacob when we heard him at the outpost, but I didn’t understand what it meant until that woman showed up. That Resistance that _you_ killed.” His eyes go wide. “I didn’t mean—“

“Did you have fun?” They had heard Jacob at the beginning, before they ever found the cabin, and Rook had been so willfully blind that he couldn’t spot _recognition_ when he’d seen it. “Did you get everything you wanted from fucking your enemy?” It’s been over two weeks since that Resistance woman had shown up. She’d called Joseph a monster and she had been _right_. “Did you enjoy making me believe that you loved me?” It hurts. All of it just hurts. “Tell me that you at least had fun.”

“That was never my intention,” Joseph says, mouth pulling tight as his jaw clenches around more lies.

“Were you trying to convert me? Was that it?” All those times when Joseph would tell him of his vision and beg for Rook to believe him. “Fuck, is that what you wanted?” It had worked. He had been willing to believe _everything_. “Did you want to convince me that you aren’t insane because I’ve got some fucking news for you.”

“You said that you _believed me._ ”

Rook can't do this anymore. “We both said a lot of things that aren’t true.” Anger can’t protect him from the ache that’s spreading out from his heart; a slow devastating pain that is too much to bear. Because all he’s known for weeks was a lie. 

There is nowhere in Hope County that is far enough from Joseph, but he has to get away. From these mountains and this cabin and everything they signify. This was never their home and they never should have pretended it was. 

He pushes past Joseph and out of the kitchen to gather his clothes, hesitating by their bed. This morning had been perfect and now… 

“Rook, please—“

“Don’t.”

None of this was ever really his anyway. 

Rook dresses quickly, pulling on whatever he can find and ignoring the rest. The fewer things he has to remind him of this time, the better. But he can still feel Joseph on his skin, between his thighs. 

Everything is a mess, but nothing more than him. 

“Next time I see you, I will kill you,” he says on his way out the door and doesn’t look back.

*

Killing Peggies, willingly taking their lives, gets a hell of a lot easier once Rook remembers how long he’s been doing it. Not time to _care_ when he knows the job he’s supposed to do. They’re not people, they’re enemies and it’s Rook’s responsibility to free the people of Hope County by any means necessary. Because that’s what he’s needed for. That’s what _saves people_. Isn’t it?

Isn’t it.

Someone points him at a problem and fixes it. And it’s _fine_. He was fine with it before, there’s no reason he should want anything else now. 

Just because he spent a month thinking he was someone else, someone softer and kinder, with far less blood on his hands, can’t change who he is. There’s no starting over, no clean slate. 

It’s not fair.

None of it is fair. 

But what else can he do besides try to continue his life from where he left it? 

So in the first days of Rook’s return to his _real_ life, with all of its death and destruction, he throws himself right back into the fire. And he does his best not to ever, ever think about it. He takes back an outpost and doesn’t count the bodies left in his wake. He destroys a shrine and never once looks up at the statue that rises above him. He blows up a silo and tries to remember why that used to be fun.

But there is always another target or another person to be saved or someone on the radio telling him where he needs to go. And it’s fine. 

Rook is _fine_.

He does everything he’s supposed to do and he doesn’t stop. Because if he stops then all he will have is himself, and right now that’s not someone he can live with. 

Falling in love was never in the cards. Neither was a little cabin, just big enough for two people to live comfortably. No days at the lake or nights in their bed made of soft touches and gentle words. 

When he closes his eyes, when he tries to sleep, it all plays out in his mind again and again. Sometimes he notices the cracks in the foundation much earlier. Sometimes Joseph tells him the truth before Rook has to find it out on his own. A few times he never believes in the lie in the first place. And once, just once, he never remembers at all. 

That one is the worst. 

It was always easier not to want things he’d never had.

But then the cult stops going after him. They just _stop_. And no matter what he does or how much he destroys they leave him alone. 

Rook doesn’t even notice at first. He’s so focused on on doing everything that he can to keep from falling apart, like a bandaid over a sucking chest wound, that he doesn’t realise he’s being left alone. There are no hunting parties after him when he takes another outpost, no antagonistic calls to him over the radio, no Bliss filled hallucinations. 

Instead they all just ignore him.

And that makes everything worse.

Rook can’t pretend that he’s okay, that nothing has changed, that he’s back to normal when Joseph changes the rules of their fucking game. He needs the fighting and the gunfire and violence so he won’t have to think about how much he doesn’t want it. So he won’t have to feel _broken_. And sooner or later he’ll be able to bury all of his hurt so deep down that he’ll feel like himself again.

Joseph has no fucking right to take that from him. 

So Rook doubles his efforts, sleeps less and less, and burns down every single thing in his path. 

They rebuild every time. 

Rook finishes out the week drinking himself stupid and trying to forget what it’s like to be _better_. 

*

Sharky is the one to find him face down in a patch of grass next to a rusted out car with all of its tires and windows missing. Rook has only a vague recollection of trying to climb into the back to sleep and judging from where he wakes up he didn’t make it. Not even close.

“Hey Rook, you still alive?” Sharky’s voice is way too loud for Rook’s hangover to deal with. The sun is also too bright, though that one is probably not Sharky’s fault, so he tries not to blame him for it. And he can only blame himself for the way his skull has been emptied out and replaced with broken glass and tangled fishing line. 

Rook groans and rolls over, pressing a hand over his eyes to block out the violent rays of sunlight. “Go away, ‘m fine.” His mouth is filled with cotton and dirt and the remains of a night full of cheap whiskey and feeling sorry for himself.

“No can do, man. You disappear for a month and come back with zero explanation just to go on a Peggie killing bender, which I loved by the way, don’t know if I mentioned that, but now I find you passed out on the side of the road smelling like you took a dive into the Spread Eagle head first and hit as many bottles as you could on the way down,” Sharky says, and it’s way more than Rook’s brain can process yet. 

“I said I’m fine.”

“No you’re not and I am worried about you.” Sharky sighs and even that is too loud. “A lot of us are worried about you.”

It takes all of the energy in his body to sit up against the bent car door he hadn’t been able to open during the night. “Sorry,” he says and doesn’t vomit when the world lurches angrily and painfully to the side. 

“Nah, Rook, don’t apologise, just— just stop saying you're fine. You’re not fine.” Sharky sits down next to him and hands over a bottle of water because he’s the best friend that Rook could ever ask for. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I know whatever it is has to be bad enough to make you try drinking it away. So, I guess what I’m saying is that if you need someone to talk to, and I think you do, well. I’m here to listen.”

Rook absolutely does not want to talk. “I’m—“

“You’re _fine,_ I know. If you don’t want to talk, that’s cool too.”

“Fuck.” There’s no sense in trying to push Sharky away when he’s trying to help and Rook really does need a friend right now. And also he’s out of whiskey and he left the tequila smashed on the road somewhere during a particularly strong wave of vertigo and regret. “How much do you know?” he asks after a while, when the bottle of water is empty and Sharky’s quiet patience gets to be too much.

Sharky sucks a breath and stretches his legs out in front of him. “About your sudden disappearing act?”

“Yeah.”

“Not a lot. I mean, I know that you and Broseph Seed went MIA and everyone on both sides were losing our collective shit,” Sharky says, knocking his foot against Rook’s. “At first we thought one of the Seeds got you, but then we found out that Joseph was missing too and that’s when everyone started to panic. And since you haven’t told anyone what happened and I’m not friendly with any Peggies to ask them, all I’ve got are rumors.”

Rook hasn’t heard any of those yet. “Anything good?”

Sharky shrugs. “Some were way more believable than others. Like Hurk thought maybe you’d been abducted, but there haven’t been any new crop circles so I think that’s just wishful thinking. A few people thought you were actually locked away in a Peggie bunker and that they were only pretending that they lost Joseph, or one of the other Seeds had gone rogue. But I know you can escape a bunker with your eyes closed and both hands tied behind your back.”

“I don’t know about that…”

“A lot of people thought you were dead,” he says quietly, shoulders curling in. “I didn’t like that one so much. But I guess whatever really happened was worse.”

Rook laughs, he can’t help it. Reality was worse because it wasn’t bad at all. It’s everything since then that has been awful. “Yeah.”

“Like I said, if you don’t want to talk about it that’s cool. You don’t have to,” Sharky adds. “But if you want to tell me anything I won’t judge you for it. Whatever happened clearly messed you up pretty bad and I know how hard it can be to deal with everything on your own.”

They sit together in companionable silence while Rook tries to gather his thoughts into words he can explain. Where is he even supposed to start. “I don’t like the person I am,” he says. “Do you know how many people I’ve killed? Because I don’t. I lost count in the first week and I don’t— I don’t want to be what this county has made me.” For better or worse, Rook has changed and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to change back.

“Shit, Rook,” Sharky breathes, “Okay. Yeah. If you wanna go nonlethal we can do that.”

“Can we? Is that even an option anymore?” Rook doesn’t think so without some pretty big concessions on the part of the Peggies, and even then the rest of Hope County would have to not use that to their advantage. Everyone here has a gun and every problem is solved with a bullet these days. 

Sharky shrugs again. “Worth trying, I guess. Worst case scenario we just go back to business as usual knowing that at least we tried. No idea if that’ll fix the rest of your problems, though. I don’t think most of us are gonna walk away from all this too happy with everything we’ve had to do. I know I’ve lost sleep over it more than once. Maybe we could set up a support group.”

“Maybe.” It’s a lot better than Rook’s plan which had been to drink until he stopped caring. 

“That still doesn’t tell me what happened to you and Joseph Seed for an entire month.”

“Guess not,” Rook says. There’s a lot he wants to say and a lot more he’s not sure that he’ll ever be ready to share with anyone. He’s been having a hard time just admitting any of it to himself, but if there is anyone who he can trust not to judge him, it’s Sharky. And right now this is his best chance to work out the mess in his heart before he self-destructs any further. “What do you do if you fall in love with the wrong person?”

“Depends on how wrong…” Sharky trails off as realisation hits and his jaw goes slack. “Oh. Oh wow. Shit,” he says, staring at Rook with a face of complete shock. “Wow, I did not see that one coming, I’ll be honest with you. No judgment of course, I promised. But oh boy, you don’t do anything by halves, do you. Not even one of the lesser Seeds, you just went straight for the top of the Peggie food chain.”

Rook rubs at his eyes and considers curling back up in the dirt and grass. 

“Well, okay, the way I see it you can either move on or you don’t. You gotta decide what you want and you gotta go for it. Move on and try to fall _out_ of love, or don’t and hope you can make it all work. But you can’t fix things with a bottle, I can promise you that.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Rook mutters. 

“I get that,” Sharky says. “We could set shit on fire? It won’t fix any of your problems, sometimes it even makes things worse actually, but you will feel better for a while. I always do.”

Rook thinks about it for a few seconds, but it’s a much easier choice to make. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

Fire definitely doesn’t solve any of Rook’s problems, and now he has a fresh new burn on his left arm, but it does help to clear his mind even through his hangover. Sharky is absolutely right. Rook can either move the fuck on or he can try to fix a relationship that was never even real. 

So he decides to move on. It’s the right choice to make and if he sometimes entertains the idea of how he could make it work with Joseph, well. That’s no one’s business but his own.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took way longer than it should have bc I rewrote this chapter like 4 times...

A day goes by, and another, and maybe Rook is still a tense ball of exposed nerves and heartache, but he’s feeling more optimistic about it. Unless the world actually comes to an end, which he’s now more on the fence about than he used to be, it’s unlikely things can get any worse for him. And his friends have all agreed to his new plans for a more non lethal form of resistance. 

At least for now.

It’s likely that the damage has already been done and the only way to fight the cult’s fire is with a bigger, more aggressive fire. If the Resistance gives an inch, the cult will take every square mile and every person in it.

But Rook does his best to return to whatever sense of normalcy he can. Just as soon as he’s able to figure out what exactly that entails. It probably involves less grief over the man whose actions literally caused, in every way, the moral and emotional turmoil that Rook has been living in. 

As much as he’s decided to get over Joseph, he’s having a hard time actually doing it. Which makes him sad and angry in equal measure, which in turn makes him just _angry_ because he’s already made his decision to _move on_. And yet not matter how hard he tries he can’t seem to let go. 

Honestly, fuck Joseph Seed. Rook was _content_ with himself and his place in the world and Joseph came along, like he had any fucking _right_ , and changed _everything_.

Maybe what Rook really needs is closure. 

Which is how he ends up deciding to step foot inside Jacob’s territory for the first time since, well. Since he remembered. 

It’s only been a week and change, but it feels like lifetimes. Rook has been a different person every single time he’s entered or exited the mountains, the last two times especially. And it feels weird to come back, but there are things that need resolution.

He has a car this time, and he stays on the road, but somehow he finds himself still trying to follow the same path he and Joseph took originally. It’s… hard to look back on without picking apart every little thing. And it occurs to him only _now_ , when he passes that winding river with its small shed, that the Peggies never fired at _Joseph_. Fuck, the only reason they escaped without a hundred judges descending on them was likely because no Peggie wants to be the one who’s pet wolf bit the Father. 

Rook really had missed every possible sign, hadn’t he. 

Eventually he has to leave the car behind and go the rest of the way on foot. The only thing close to a road that he knows leads to the cabin is the one from the lake, but even that is old and overgrown and would be almost impossible to navigate. If it weren’t for all of the memories, Rook would still love the place for its quiet, picturesque, solitude.

It shouldn’t come as any surprise to him that the chickens are gone when he reaches the cabin, but somehow it does. Like everything should be exactly the same as when he left. And he should be glad that it’s not. Grateful, even, that Joseph took them when Rook didn’t.

Because Rook left without so much as a glance back at the animals he’d been taking care of. 

But something about it feels _unfair_. 

Joseph didn’t _deserve them._

It’s petty and ugly, but Rook wants Joseph to have nothing left of their time together the same way that Rook has nothing. 

He has nothing.

All of it is gone.

The entire cabin has been cleaned of every last trace that he or Joseph had lived in it. There isn’t a damn thing inside that’s proof that _anyone_ has ever lived there. The cabinets are empty, the dresser drawers, even the bathroom has been cleared out. It’s practically sterile in how much of a home it _isn’t_. 

Everything cleaned away like it never happened. 

Rook should be happy. He wanted to remove anything that would tie him to Joseph and their time together, and it seems Joseph has done exactly that. 

“Fuck,” Rook says to an empty home. 

This is final. It _feels_ final. Joseph has taken the initiative to scrub Rook from his life the same way that Rook was going to do to him. 

Rook’s not entirely sure what his plan was, either. Grab the chickens and… maybe just say goodbye to this part of his life. Find closure in this home he’d made for himself and… well. Now there’s nothing left for him to let go _of._

He sits heavy on the bed, lost again. This is what he wanted, so shouldn’t it hurt less? If it’s all gone, if there’s nothing left of this life besides what’s in his heart, isn’t that better? If there’s nothing left to hold on to, then he can _let go_.

But it still hurts.

The floorboards creak in the doorway and for a moment Rook’s heart stops and he actually expects to see Joseph standing there, waiting for him to notice. He’s really not sure if he’s glad when it’s a different Seed that he sees. 

“What do you want, Jacob?”

Jacob’s arms are folded over his chest, striking an imposing figure that’s meant to intimidate. “I came to talk.”

“Great, have fun with that,” Rook says, too tired and empty for whatever Jacob has to offer. “I don’t care, okay? I want nothing to do with you or your family’s bullshit anymore.”

It’s almost impressive how Jacob manages to laugh without even an ounce of humor in his voice. “Do you honestly think I give a shit about what you want? And here I was starting to think you were smarter than that.”

Rook grits his teeth and doesn’t answer because he doesn’t fucking have to. All the Seeds are better left ignored, as far as he’s concerned.

“I’m here for Joseph,” Jacob says, practically dragging out Rook’s attention against his will. “You see, he’s been saying that he’s _fine_ , but I know my brother. I know when he’s coming apart at the seams and when he needs my help. Whatever you’ve done to him—“

“I didn’t do _anything_ to him,” Rook spits.

Jacob doesn’t look convinced at all. “You lying to me or yourself?”

Which isn’t _fair_. 

Of course Rook is lying to himself. He may be an idiot, but he’s not stupid, and currently lying to himself is the only thing getting him up in the morning. If he focuses on his anger then he can pretend he wants to move on. If he puts all the blame on Joseph then he won’t have to acknowledge all the warning signs he chose to ignore because he was afraid of what he’d find if he knew the truth. If he only looks at how he has changed then he won’t have to noticed how Joseph must have changed as well. 

He doesn’t need Jacob fucking Seed to point that out. 

Of course Joseph isn’t doing okay, because if he were then everything on his side would have gone back to the way it was before. But it _hasn’t_. Rook lost himself in the Bliss, then found himself with Joseph, and when he remembered they were both lost. 

Neither of them could have left this cabin unchanged. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Jacob sighs, like he hates this conversation just as much as Rook does. “I knew this was all gonna blow up in his face back when he first called me.”

“When he—“ the radio. The Resistance woman had a radio that he’d seen and then… the next morning when he heard Joseph talking and he’d said it was to the _chickens_. “Hindsight, huh.”

“Guess you figured something out? If it means anything to you, he was confused about most of the details. Couldn’t understand why I wanted to get him away from you.”

Rook’s throat constricts painfully, and his stomach twists and turns. 

“He thought that you would believe him,” Jacob adds. “Even when I came to get him, he was so sure you were going to believe him.”

“Believe him? About what, his vision? What am I supposed to— he _lied to me_.”

“If you say so,” Jacob shrugs. “Joseph is a lot of things to a lot of people, but I’ve never known him to be a liar. Then again, I can’t say I know everything that happened between you.”

“Because it’s none of your fucking business,” Rook says around steel clenched teeth.

Jacob rolls his eyes, leaning against the doorframe. “Sure,” he says, calm as anything. Refusing to give Rook the fight he wants. “Like I told you, I’m here for my brother. If your so determined to hate him, the go ahead, do what you want. But what I’m asking is for you to stay away from him. Send one of your friends after him, send them all if you have to— we know how competent they are without you—“

“Don’t—“

“But _you_ stay away. You don’t go anywhere near him, and in return I’ll let you keep all of the territory you’ve taken from me and my brother, and from Faith.”

“What makes you think you can take it back in the first place?”

“What makes you think that I _can’t_ ,” Jacob asks. “And how many more of your people will you lose if I try?”

It’s not a bad deal. Jacob is offering him a way to prevent more unnecessary death for something that Rook was already planning to do, and he should absolutely take the deal without question. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

“You don’t.”

“Fair enough.” That’s what Rook was expecting anyway, and agreement sits right on the tip of his tongue, ready to be spoken. But it refuses to come out. The idea of never seeing Joseph again _hurts_. 

A week ago Rook believed they were going to spend the rest of their lives together. Part of him still dreams of that future. They were married, even though they had never made any vows, and every moment felt real enough that now when he’s presented with opportunity to make things easier for himself, he can’t. It didn’t have to be real for Rook to fall in love. 

His silence must be answer enough for Jacob who shakes his head and pushes off from the doorframe. Not like he’s disappointed, but like this is exactly the outcome he predicted. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Jacob says as a last parting shot before he leaves. 

“Fuck,” Rook says, alone in the cabin again. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he might know what he’s going to do next. And he’s annoyed that somehow _Jacob_ had it all figured out already. “ _Fuck_.”

*

The drive to the compound takes _hours_. Rook starts and stops and starts again several times, where he pulls over to reconsider if he can even do this. One minute he can, with all the confidence in the world, and the next all the doubt and anger and fear come pouring back in. Maybe he should wait, maybe tomorrow would be better, maybe he’ll see Joseph again and all that love will finally turn to hate.

Maybe it won’t.

Maybe Joseph doesn’t want to see _him_.

And maybe he does.

Rook stops the car and sits with the radio off, his face pressed to the steering wheel as he breathes out his anxiety. After everything he’s been through, this is hardly his most difficult challenge.

It just feels like it is.

He starts the car, makes a u-turn, and drives half a mile in the wrong direction until he forces himself to turn around again. If he doesn’t go now, he might never make it. Or he’ll wait too long and this chance for _something_ might be lost. 

It’s better to try now, even if he fails, then to always wonder what could have happened. Rook doesn’t want to reach the end of his life, or the end of the world, full of regret for all the what-ifs and heartache over the could-have-beens. 

The closer he gets to the compound the more certain he is of his decision to go. An entire speech swirls around in his mind of everything he wants to say. Repeating in an endless loop, becoming a monologue of _You lied to me_ and _I hate you_ that he hopes feels as good to say as it does to think, even if he doesn’t mean it. He still wants Joseph to hurt, too.

The Peggies at the compound don’t know what to do with him when he arrives, driving through the metal gate with his windows down so that he’s easily seen. Like they know they’re no supposed to attack him, but he was never supposed to show up at their base. Though a few of them do try shouting angrily at him.

Rook pays them little attention as he drives right to the church, parking by the doors. He makes a show of removing his weapons, dropping them into the back seat, just in case one of the Peggies decides he’s too dangerous to be trusted. Better to have them know he’s unarmed than have them stop him now when he’s so close.

Two of the Peggies point rifles at him, regardless, so Rook holds his hands out the window to open the car door from the other side. “See, no weapons,” he says, carefully getting out while the Peggies refuse to stop looking jumpy and paranoid. “I’m only here to talk to the Father.”

They’re still trying to decipher his exact intentions when Rook slips past them and into the church.

“Your guards are idiots,” he says to Joseph, who is thankfully the only other person inside. Rook hadn’t accounted for what would happen if there were more Peggies in the church, or what he would do if Joseph wasn’t there at all.

Joseph is sitting alone on the floor, back against the pulpit, idly flipping through pages of his cult bible. “Are you here to kill me, Rook,” he asks, voice distant and flat. 

“No,” Rook says, “no. I shouldn’t have said that…”

The doors behind him softly creak open as a Peggie sticks his head in. “Father—“

“Leave us,” Joseph snaps in what is probably a manner very unlike the Father. 

Rook takes a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs, and lets it all out slowly. “You took my chickens,” he says, as all important points of his speech abandon him. 

Joseph looks so tired and worn thin in ways that Rook knows personally, and there are dark smudges under his eyes that speak of long days and restless nights. “I did,” he says softly.

There’s no hiding that Joseph is hurting too, and that knowledge doesn’t make Rook feel good at all. Not even a little.

“You left them, so I brought them _home_ ,”. Joseph continues, rising to his feet, and Rook doesn’t miss the way his voice catches and cracks, like _home_ is still a tiny cabin hidden away in the mountains. “They are being cared for in the valley. With John’s people.

Rook scrubs a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes. “Okay, that’s… that’s good.” This isn’t how he thought things would go. He was going to be angry and Joseph was going to be apologetic, but instead they’re both just sad. And he wonders if Joseph can hear how loud his heart is beating in the quiet of the church. 

But Joseph won’t even meet his eyes. “Is that all you wanted?”

“Yes,” Rook says. “No.” 

He had a _plan_. Every word he was going to say, every hurt he was going to share with Joseph until he felt all of it too. There were so many things that he had wanted to say, but none of it works because he didn’t think about how it would actually be like to see Joseph again. The feelings are still there, all of them. The anger and the heartache and the love, and he just wants the pain to stop.

“I want to hate you,” he says. “I want you to make me hate you again. I want to hear you say that none of it was real and that all of it, every single word, was a lie so that I can finally cut you out of me.”

Joseph’s eyes snap to his, wide and too bright, and he makes a sharply wounded sound that strikes Rook in the heart. Where he doesn’t deserve to be. “I _can’t_.”

“Please,” Rook begs. “Please just let me hate you.”

Joseph drags him into a kiss that has Rook feeling repaired and broken all over in a brand new way. “I _won’t_.”

Rook digs his fingers into Joseph’s waist and hold him close, unwilling to push him away even when he knows that he should. “I was in love with you,” he says against Joseph’s lips. “I can’t stop being in love with you, why won’t you let me _stop_.” He’s going to lose his mind here, with this man, if he hasn’t already. “Please,” he repeats, fingers sliding under clothes, ripping and pulling at buttons and zippers, and tugging at Joseph’s belt. “Please.”

He loses his jeans somewhere on the way to the ground with Joseph braced above him. This is all a terrible mistake that they’re making, but there is no power on earth that could convince him to stop now. Not when Joseph has two spit-wet fingers in him, and all Rook wants is more.

It’s been little more than a week since they’ve last done this, but there’s a gentle ache that Rook had all but forgotten about. It grounds him. Makes everything more _real_ as Joseph’s fingers twist and push to work him open again, like the first time. None of those too wet, too careful movements of before. Instead it’s like Joseph is just as desperate to fuck inside of him as Rook is to pull him in where he’s always fit.

He draws Joseph into another kiss and swallows down that broken sound that one of them makes. He isn’t sure who it was, and maybe it was them both. 

Joseph pulls back, just a little, just enough to tear at his own jeans and release his cock to the open air. He spits into his hand, doing his best to make it easier for Rook, even if they both know that it won’t be enough, but Rook still angles his hips up and lets Joseph push into him. There’s a slow stretch of pain that has Rook hissing through his teeth, and that has Joseph stopping.

Rook takes in one shaking breath, then another, and presses his knees to Joseph’s hips. “Please,” he whispers as Joseph slides the rest of the way in.

The way Joseph fucks him is different than any time he has before. Like he’s trying to leave a mark for Rook to remember him by, in case this never happens again. Every push of his hips feels like his purpose is to draw this out as long as possible and his kiss tastes like a promise as well as a goodbye.

Rook hates it. 

He digs his nails in, scratching lines in blood over old scars and tattoos, intending to leave his own marks where Joseph can’t escape him. Now that they’re here he’s even more afraid to let go. So he clenches down and uses his legs to pull Joseph in deeper, whispering love and anger that he’ll eventually have to explain, but he needs Joseph to understand _now_.

Eventually Joseph gives him what he needs. All deep grinding pressure mixed with soft kisses that somehow feels _right_. And he reaches down, to wrap long fingers around Rook’s cock. Jerking him off in slow pulls that are at odds with the harder snap of his hips.

It doesn’t take Rook long to come after that. Shuddering out a sob and clinging to Joseph like nothing has changed between them. When they kiss he tries to pour all of his frustration into it while Joseph fucks him through the last of his orgasm, hips rocking in a messy rhythm that turns harder and messier as Joseph seeks his own release. 

He presses Rook’s leg up, changing the angle, until he slams forward, spilling inside of Rook like he’s still allowed. 

Rook should be angry.

But he’s just tired.

And nothing has been fixed.

“I thought I had won the lottery,” Rook says when Joseph pulls out, before either of them have had a chance to catch their breath, leaving him wet and empty. “I thought I had found my soulmate and somehow convinced him to marry me. Do you have any idea how excited I was to spend the rest of my life with you? There were days when it was all I could think about.” He sits up, a little sore, and uncaring of the mess they’ve made.

Joseph pulls a face that is both complicated and very, very sad. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “You were the only thing that I couldn’t remember and I thought— I hoped— if I could make you believe in me then you would understand what I am trying to accomplish here. I was wrong.”

Rook’s heart does something funny, clenches painfully. “I was the only thing you couldn’t remember?”

Joseph sucks in a breath and when he lets it out again Rook can hear how barely controlled it is. “There’s no excuse for what I did. Even if I wanted to believe that you were mine, I should have never kept the truth from you.”

“Yeah,” Rook says. “Fuck.” Maybe they really both are in way too deep. But he’s learned to read Joseph and he can see all the brittle, fragile parts of himself that he tries to hide away. They’re both a mess and if they don’t figure this out eventually they’ll self destruct and take everyone else out with them. Or, at least, Rook will. But he suspects he knows enough about Joseph by now to make that guess. “You know, Jacob came to see me. He offered to make my life a hell of a lot easier if I promised to never see you again.”

Joseph’s eyes dart to his, jaw clenching and releasing. “He didn’t have the right,” he says, voice a tight grate of _wrath_. But then his face changes to surprise before sliding into confusion. “You’re here.”

Rook sighs, because that’s an excellent point he’s not sure he can explain fully. “I couldn't take it,” he says with a shrug. “I _should_ have, it would have been the right thing to do, but look at what happens when I try to hate you—“ he gestures at all the evidence of them fucking on the church floor only minutes ago. “I did try. I wanted to get over you more than anything.” He shrugs again, not knowing how to put the tangled mess of his heart into words. “But I was better with you. Even if— fuck. I don’t want to kill any more of your people. I don’t want to be part of the destruction anymore. When I’m with you I can see myself being _happy_ , and…”

“And?” Joseph’s breathing is fast and he’s looking at Rook with something a lot like hope.

“I don’t trust you, Joseph,” he answer honestly. “I don’t know if I can. You’re _killing people_ and it’s my job, it is literally my job, to stop you. Do you get that? All of the blood on my hands is on yours too. But… I would have done _anything_ to protect you from your vision. I would have done anything to protect _you_ , and that’s still part of me.”

Joseph leans closer, searching his eyes and gently touching his face with careful hands. “Rook, _please_.”

“You have to stop hurting people. You can’t force anyone to believe and I can’t be a part of that, Joseph. I don’t want you to _make me_ a part of that anymore, because I—“ Somehow this is still the hard part. “I’m in love with you. And if you’re right, if your visions are real, then I want to stay by your side.”

“And if I’m wrong?”

“Then I will arrest you myself,” Rook says. “That’s… it’s all I’ve got.”

Joseph kisses him, just a soft brush of his lips, and presses their foreheads together. “I will show you that I’m right,” he whispers. “You will see and I will lead you into Eden and I will earn back your trust. If you stay with me then I will do everything you ask. I promise.”

“I believe you,” Rook says, and means it.


End file.
